TempestG0ddess

On a somber night on winters edge, no leaves held to the line of sedge, that crept about a limpid pool, where the autumn wind cut cruel. Silently a whisper fell, a softly silver toll of bells, and sung the amber paean requiem, that called solemnly again. Down the path unknowingly, the shadows shimmered so sleekly, spoke of what one couldn't know, and carried thick the scent of snow. Slowly it began to dance, leaves and moonlight in romance, then took a fiery pagan pace, that shook the starlight in its place. The trees all held in this desire, keepers of a sacred fire, stretching bare arms to the sky, with roots