It's the ending of a tale; it's the beginning of one
It's the rendering of a piece unsung
It's the frayed passing of thrones
From a grandmother's knackered spine
To the mother's stubborn bones
To the daughter's frisky footsteps
Like a mare let loose in territory unknown
On their souls is marked the sacrificial elf
Scored firsthand from God Herself
Cedar compassion sprouts from their fingertips
and creeps along the gardens over which they stand sentinel,
Raw instinct safeguarding them like tentacles
At their cores, they're all one and the same
A mother's rage was what they all had tasted
And what they knew they couldn't tame
Wretched mirrors of one another
You are I and I you, one tells the other
For it's the ending of a tale, and yet the beginning of one