I arrive with the moon, but I bring the storm. Pain is my harbinger; gore is my form. I sometimes wear wings and sometimes a cup. In fifty or sixty years my time’s up.

Attached to a clock, it tolls for the time. Attached to a church, it rings for the dead. In a coffin, you make this ring with a strong hope someone is listening. What is this four-letter word that you hope does not toll for you?

I am proof that time can pause, that dead men still may speak. I ask for nothing but your eyes, yet change the way you think.

I once became King Alonso’s eye, Please never cast me out before swine, I come in white or black or even blue, But almost always of shimmering hue.

All around you I shall rest To protect your noble crest; From banners high to dungeons low, I prevent your overthrow. If a Gatherer Magician you might be, Only by air you may pass through me!