It has been getting later and later
For a while now.
He, the wielder of songs,
Walks forward until he is near the woeful.
He waves the magic wand,
Singing the song of the sword,
The hymn of the hammer.
Lulling them into a deep, heavy slumber,
The sounds of bodies falling softly like snow
As his voice rings out clearly
Into the dark night sky.
YOU ARE READING
A Touch of Wonder
PoetryA book of poetry filled with thoughts, experiences, and emotions. "As I walk down the slippery street, My face streaming with tears, The sadness can barely be sustained. But you suddenly kiss away my fears, My dear umbrella in the rain."
