Drunk on the stars reflection
I find solace in the orange drooping leaves
I  sink into the mint morning grass
The moon sliver is the color old book pages
The smell of rain is near and far
And over the hill
A little too the left
Is the castle and town
where I spend my Days

And heard in the mountains afar
A bell ringing, deep as a north giants voice
                                   Ringing
                    Ringing
     Ringing
Suddenly Becoming shrill
like a cricket in my ear
Awaking to my alarm
Once again surrounded by books
School books
And a hundred papers
Blank papers under my skinny arms
And we move on
Day
     By
          Day
               By
                    Day
Until we are only dead dusty bones
Forgotten and grey