There were only three. The first, a gray, a stillness,

and held to fall to me; this, the first of three.

The valley was still, and dead,

By God and man, the last

And though I raised my yearning hands

And shouted and implored, there came naught from eternity,

But just my voice again.

There were only three. The first, a gray, a stillness,

And held to fall, to me: Dare you challenge the screaming shell,

Tear asunder, man-made Hell? A breath, a whisper, not here,

But there: I cannot take you. I cannot take you.

A night forgotten, an echo lost in mortal dust and left denied.

Yet held the endless, shadowed time, the second one of three,

Laughing. I cannot take you. I cannot take you.

There were only three. Dying wonder, those who came

And held to fall to me. Lost, in shattered time

Where desertion’s strife boils and teams. Of three. Not faith,

Not Hope. I cannot take you. I cannot take you.

Then came the third, only one, yet all of three

And silent Death held to me, softly whispered.

I will take you. I will take you.