The last prophet etched lines in the sand.
Her mellifera axiom. All about her is quiet in the garden where she lay. At the sound of her mournful strung beating heart the Prince of Normandy hazards a doubt. The frailty he long wished to know exposed before him in the flight of a righteous rain; a tear. In the sand he saw his name etched as the eldest among those who have caused the tear to fall. In the sand he saw the romantics of written law that his name shall not be everlasting but washed by the simplicity of water. The Møring Queen left her dying words in the skin of the earth,
“The callous feet of these have tread a life unbeknownst upon the cliffs of law and in my flight I have still loved you”