Blog, Gothic, Nature, Poetry

The Birds Must Pity Us

As I make my song,

I find it answered from below,

And in peculiar ways I’d like to know,

So down through the green and black,

I fly,

Twixt the shaded realms of time,

Where ages have manifest,

As strands and fur,

Amidst my sweet pine friends,

Until at the source I arrive,

To find strange things,

With sad eyes affixed,

Upon my glorious realm above.

Dawn of Eternity logo

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