Leaning into the wind

Sharpe
talons kuttingh
blood
One strike
salt stinging
feet on falls dead grass
gla sydhe through the grove
the sun
the April snow
shines
trees comfort & shelter

Grass Wood Carrion
stench on the wind
shrieking and screaming
No!
the same as it never was
2 strikes

you talk your red hair
you talk your sinise eye
that my eyes linger
but alas
I fear t'is your glass
that has spoken
the ring speaks
unanswered
ignored
shrieking and screaming
1 chance left

only 1 chance left
faint, on the wind
scrying into the stream
ripples
into
eternity

and flying far into the blue
leaning into the wind
there
goes meigh eye
For yet another twrist.