Welcome… a poem

Stealthy walking spirit in the night

Upon the winds of the winter’s change.

Stabbed with color shooting down

Into a world of lifeless mayhem.

Little wonder of such a place

Prickly and absent of life.

How did such as this occur

Before the glaring night?

Wasting over lands of thorn

She glides high in the air.

Never is a passerby

To ever be found here.

As fallen branches from the trees

Deaf forests that hear no sound.

Only here among the freeze

Aye – folklore can be found.