The cold passed through touching bone,
Thin cotton,
No protection to wind blown,
Hair banners blowing freely,
Thin cotton,
Covers skin only partly
And the wind turns skin to blue,
Thin cotton,
The winter just passes through
Carrying her life like lost leaves
Thin cotton,
Made for the summer’s warm breeze,
When he left.

White and pure,
The dress was his last glancing,
Her aloft,
He rides off,
To the grim fates of chancing,
Noble quest,
A hard test
Armor polished to gleaming,
Left alone,
On top of stone,
Within the crowd’s glad screaming,
When he left,
The dress was his last glancing.

She returns to the spire
In cotton,
Like that day of desire,
A white summer party dress,
Thin cotton,
Now with chilling winter’s press
In hopes of armor’s gleaming,
Same cotton,
But now sorrow eyes streaming
Fearful for him that she yearns,
Thin cotton,
With each full moon returns.
In cotton.