The wind did wail through the pines
Upon sylphen tongues rode thunderous 'foretellings
Crisp as the autumn air the words float upon
Softer than a mother's love
And the wind did speak
Weaving omens and prophecies
Lightning in poetic shape
I will never forget my lovely little fortune
The howl spoke and roared
A dialect only for my ready ears
Booming in an undertone,
"Son, Follow the rhythm of your war drum!"
These worn robes did fall
This auburn hair grows back
With a reminder around my wrist I march on
Onwards back home
Compass like heart guide me
Guide me back home
Jan 30, 2016
Jan 30, 2016 at 12:18 PM UTC
The wind did wail through the pines
Upon sylphen tongues rode thunderous 'foretellings
Crisp as the autumn air the words float upon
Softer than a mother's love
And the wind did speak
Weaving omens and prophecies
Lightning in poetic shape
I will never forget my lovely little fortune
The howl spoke and roared
A dialect only for my ready ears
Booming in an undertone,
"Son, Follow the rhythm of your war drum!"
These worn robes did fall
This auburn hair grows back
With a reminder around my wrist I march on
Onwards back home
Compass like heart guide me
Guide me back home
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