Lena
and sweetest in the gale is heard
and sore must be the storm
and sore must be the storm
A joyous little spot in a land that might’ve forgotten most aspects of such things, Lena was reluctant to leave too. Pleasant and soothing, like a balm in between withering vines and decaying fronds, it could’ve been a lure, an enticing, inveigling thing, or simply pacifying.
But she fluttered around much like a bird, tending to the blossoms, hoping to find the herb she sought. She wandered along the little pond, noting the fish in their dreamy haze, or the long stalks of greenery yet to be consumed by autumn or winter, yet, none of them yielded the particular flora. “I don’t see it here,” she mentioned to Darkeye by way of shrug. “Where should we go next?” Since an abundance of paths still awaited them, three directly ahead.
But she fluttered around much like a bird, tending to the blossoms, hoping to find the herb she sought. She wandered along the little pond, noting the fish in their dreamy haze, or the long stalks of greenery yet to be consumed by autumn or winter, yet, none of them yielded the particular flora. “I don’t see it here,” she mentioned to Darkeye by way of shrug. “Where should we go next?” Since an abundance of paths still awaited them, three directly ahead.
that could abash the little bird
that kept so many warm
that kept so many warm
