Posted On: | 2006-06-07 00:00:00 |
Fluttered wisp of a forknight sigh
Floating above the breeze on hemlock’s rye
Current’s lift a summer eye
fast upon the midnight sky
And heavenly graces slowly descend;
The great circle leaves nothing left to mend
The pillars-three face the escalating shadow force
Who best fight save those with no remorse?
The cunning witches of hexlike whispers
Trace the dark evening to their will