🍂 “The Eight That Ne’er Do Lie”
By Finnick O’Marrow, Dunling wordsmith and watcher o' winds
I
When silver tongues do twist and turn,
And masks parade with hollow grace,
Look not to words nor painted eyes—
But to the deed that leaves its trace.
When silver tongues do twist and turn,
And masks parade with hollow grace,
Look not to words nor painted eyes—
But to the deed that leaves its trace.
II
A laugh let loose from belly’s well,
Be’t roaring gale or giggled spark,
Shan’t ever lie—no, beast nor man,
Can fake what flies from spirit’s dark.
A laugh let loose from belly’s well,
Be’t roaring gale or giggled spark,
Shan’t ever lie—no, beast nor man,
Can fake what flies from spirit’s dark.
III
The fiddler’s bow, the piper’s breath,
Their notes doth speak in purer tone,
For music born o’ strings and air
Can strike the heart though played alone.
The fiddler’s bow, the piper’s breath,
Their notes doth speak in purer tone,
For music born o’ strings and air
Can strike the heart though played alone.
IV
When thou dost feel the stir within,
That voice which bids thee leap or bide,
Heed well that whisper in thy bones—
For instinct shan’t be brushed aside.
When thou dost feel the stir within,
That voice which bids thee leap or bide,
Heed well that whisper in thy bones—
For instinct shan’t be brushed aside.
V
The eye betrays what lips conceal,
A glint, a twitch, a widening gate—
It weeps before the heart admits,
And burns with truths the soul won’t state.
The eye betrays what lips conceal,
A glint, a twitch, a widening gate—
It weeps before the heart admits,
And burns with truths the soul won’t state.
VI
The hand that clasps, the arm that shakes,
The tremble in a lover’s hold—
No lie can linger in a touch
That’s warm with trust or icy-cold.
The hand that clasps, the arm that shakes,
The tremble in a lover’s hold—
No lie can linger in a touch
That’s warm with trust or icy-cold.
VII
The silence hums when all words fail,
It wraps the room in heavy breath,
And in that hush, the brave may find
A truer voice than noise e’er left.
The silence hums when all words fail,
It wraps the room in heavy breath,
And in that hush, the brave may find
A truer voice than noise e’er left.
VIII
And Time, that old relentless beast,
It watches lies and truths entwine—
But give it room, and sure enough,
It separates the coal from shine.
And Time, that old relentless beast,
It watches lies and truths entwine—
But give it room, and sure enough,
It separates the coal from shine.
🍺 So here’s to thee, young wanderin’ soul,
Who seeks the truth in dark or light—
These eight, they walk where mortals tread,
And keep their hearts and hearthstones right.
Who seeks the truth in dark or light—
These eight, they walk where mortals tread,
And keep their hearts and hearthstones right.
Whether sung at a wedding or whispered at a funeral, this poem lives on—passed from Dunling to Dunling, often carved above the mantle or scrawled on the bottom of a favorite tankard.