My immortal son,
It's not so hard to see with the brightest eye,
To put out your hand,
And with delicate touch,
Take hold of the season,
Of sorrow,
And there to hold it,
Until it dies.
Weave now thy enchantment,
And as the Angels start to fall,
Soundless their cries,
Watch for winter's kiss,
So cold and Dark,
Yet it entices,
So tempting in its deathly caress.
So open brightest eyes,
See the velvet darkness,
and let them cry............
What do you think? Let me know at
darien@globalnet.co.uk
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