For Austrechild

Where is the one who sings of the wolf?
Where is the one who tells of the triumph?
A red sun rises in concert with storms.
Called away calmly to combat and more,
White hair like wings waves in the light.
Teacher and teller and toucher of hearts
Taken to lands listless and long distance from here.
No notice, no notion of nearing conclusion.
Where singing was often now sadness supreme,
Once words told of wonders, there are whispering winds.
Where is the one who sings of the wolf?
Where is the one who tells of the triumph?

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