As here a forlorn season has gone by.
It's decor awash in frozen savagery.
Snow capped mountains but a sight.
Remembered by critters amidst their plight.
Now lads and lasses sing and dance.
The birds they titter while in mid flight.
The lake once solid and frozen over.
Now strewn with diamonds where glaciers steam.
A mere illusion revealed though some may say .
This is a realm where comets are born .
And the stars stir in pure mirth.
ESTÁS LEYENDO
Song Of The Muses.
PoesíaErato, ancient keeper of the golden arts . Whisper tales from eons lost. Remind us mortals of stories lost throughout the ages ,remembered only by you,the muses.
