My final resting place, lugubrious lighting.
My bones turned to meal, used to fighting.
Absent is the lustrous effulgence of life.
Present are the markers of imperial strife.
The tomb of my Father’s, built by the Sons.
Inscribed of filial love and marked noble ones.
I am taught, I am trained in this family stead,
To rest here with honour with the Kingly dead.
Patrician and Knightly are the mode of my lectures,
But I am shamed to admit it is mostly conjectures.
What of the minutiae of the life before death?
Please don’t rule me till my last lusty breath!