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Rated: ASR · Poetry · Mystery · #657283
Blackness seeps a sleeping wood and Nite wants its time
Crystal stars glimmer, flicker, die
The Black is letting out its cry,
The Nite is coming.

Silver trees shiver, wither, weep
The Black is starting to creep.
The Nite is searching.

Cool rivers freeze, cease, still
The Black is coming into kill.
The Nite is taking.

Last magics swirl, unfurl, fly
The Black gives up its last sigh.
The Nite is Gone.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/657283-Black-Nite