The templar walked softly, head down and alone
His shadow lay heavy across the cold stone
He heard voices whisper
An echo in air
Her robes shuffling past him
The scent of her hair
“O sing to me templar, of mountains of snow
For I live in this tower, these walls all I know
Can you pick me a flower?
Can you sing me a tune?
Will you walk with me, templar,
Under the red autumn moon?
On the shores of lake Calanhad
Where the blackberries grow?”
He answered her gently, a touch of his hand
No more than her smile did the templar demand
“I will tell you of horses
Of rivers and snow
But I cannot walk with you
Where the blackberries grow.”
The templar rushed out, the night air was thin
What madness had drove him to seek her within?
Her voice was a memory
The stone an old shell
So he knelt in the grass
And he said his farewell
On the shores of lake Calanhad
Where the blackberries grow.