she leaned in the wind to consort with the trees;
trod blind foot on moss-bitten rock
the hymn of death thrummed through her body
‘til the thrill of it bloomed bright flames on her cheek
she leaned in the wind to consort with the trees;
trod blind foot on moss-bitten rock
the hymn of death thrummed through her body
‘til the thrill of it bloomed bright flames on her cheek
