Soft as silver and just as bright,
the waters glowed briefly but brightly in the night
A lone child sat by the river,
body pressed still, barely suppressing a shiver.
Clothing too thin on a body too frail,
cold winds and winter tidings turned his skin ghastly pale.
The waters flew gently on a bird's hidden wing
- flying downstream as moonlight off the surface would sing.
Silent and unbidden save for the gentle flow of the spring,
The dark forest a mystery, foreshadowing a tomb.
The lily still, was the only thing left in bloom.
Amid a forest of bare trees and darkness, it stood a lone sentinel against the gloom
Delicately nestled in a thicket of thorns.
It stood alone against winter's arsenal of storms.
Something I wrote along time ago.
