The Epic of Solemnon XII


When at last the group emerged,

And found their hid canoes,

The sky was darking overhead,

To black from clouded blue.


Clouds, nay, Mountains in the sky,

Bulged the heavens o’er.

Menacingly dark and huge,

More and more and more.


“Perhaps we should forestall our quest,

Until this storm is past,”

Solemnon suggested warily,

“Else this trip be our last.”


“Have no fear! My Hero Sir!”

Carver then replied.

“If we quickly cross the Quirth,

We’ll be glad we tried.”


“I agree with Carver here,”

Everett announced.

The question closed at his word,

The Hero’s voice was trounced.


Solemnon, Thump, and Carver,

Shared the last canoe,

And shrugging his misgivings,

The Hero joined the crew.


Overhead the thunder raged,

And rain began to pelt.

The Quirth, so calm a time before,

To anger seemed to melt.


“Steady now!” the Hero called,

“This ship must stay afloat.

On the left now! Carver!

Help me with the boat!”


Carver turned. A wicked gleam,

Had come into his eye.

“As one who serves the Thanator,

I’d rather you should die.”


And then in shockéd horror,

Solemnon felt the ship,

Pause a moment on its edge,

And slowly start to tip.


Cold and wet. Dark and deep.

The Uncontrolléd Quirth.

Drowning, desperate as he dove.

Now darkness. Now t’was Dearth.


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