Into your snow painted world
I stalk, ‘neath high veils of stormy grey
In flux, hiding shadows, taller trees
Reach to claim a stranger, warning.
What waits here few mayst know
The tales, bar what be told by
Those harbingers of old doom
Speaking ever and anon nay.
“Hold, cutter!” calls a familiar
Voice vaunted, known of old to me
Like the caress of nails on spine
Vertebrae, nerves reacting, gently.
I hail you, alert and smiling here
In your very own painted world, of
High tree, dangerous skies looming;
We are a pair here amidst such art.
Why did you come here? What sought
You in this world of your design?
So many questions have I, yet no
Reason for coming do I say so on.
Soon on this walk to your high tower,
Soon I expect you to ask, but no
Questions come forth, only quiet talk
Of old wars, older homes, family members.
I will try, try hard to give you all
That you are fairly due for your great
Victories and loving soul; and walk
Slower, slower, postponing the blood