The cold icy mist
Slowly settles over the stones
Like a dense, pale blanket
To cover the sleeping beneath.
Silence is the only music
To which shadows dance in the moonlight.
And the sleeping remain asleep
Never stirring beneath.
The winds howl like wolves to the moon.
The naked trees, they shudder.
But the stones, they stand never moving
Markers of their masters’ land.
The sleeping will only be sleeping
Until Judgment Day is at hand.
No comments:
Post a Comment