Three towers stand upon the hills, the moonlight on their stones
Caresses with remembered touch though naught remains save bones.
The bones of memories remain though life from them long fled,
The ones who watched and built long past, or gone to dust, long dead.
Their faces once were lit by sun in hands and voices, strength;
They bent their backs and shaped the stone's perfection height and
The sea that sundered with a light from spires did seem to burn,
And long ago from faded land to that siren's call they turned.
Three towers stand upon the hills, three guardians point the way,
Where those who spoke those faded names went singing, sorrowed, fey;
Singing they went unto the sea, released by silver strand,
To sail free from fading death, beyond white towers stand.