The chie of flight,
And Faeries, Elves gather and subdued.
A near lost queen has been found home, and relit the light on high,
All the while the quiet rustle flit of Faeries fly.
The canopy is dark and safe, open to all around, thee are no paths, or limits, in the canopy unbound.
The story, saga if you will is simple tales retold,
In rhyme and prose, the story goes from chapter into verse.
The once great tales of heros past, of battles lost and found,
The CIS, the cry, the scatter patter ground.
It's good at times for rembrance clear, on still night simple passing,
When the incense and the lowly light of candle dim, pale shine of hope still gleaming,
the forest air damp fragrant is, musty soft and mellow, sweet bitter herbs upon the wind.
The consolation of those dear close by and listen in,
the comfort of a battle won, and tiredness will appear.
Rest well sweet faerie, take heart, the greenery unfolding.
Expressions of pure care you'll hear and mists of day's beginning.
The panic of the clock near stopped, the time to bold and bravely do, what many of the hiers and princes, princess rescued you.
Welcome, home in still hushed terms the traveller far and near, the forest is a quiet place, not passed, but still here. The pathways in its deepest core, lead the the bridge quite still, and some will sit by the gate and wonder if they will.
I turn a leaf and listen on, to the creaking groaning seeds of hope, just quite so freshly planted.
One foot, or three, comes the cry and to the last will measure, but what a tale, what a saga, for those who wander in.
In the still damp green finery of earthiness, we welcome all our kin.
