Profetus

…awaiting, as the white cloak of winter falls down, the day`s trespass begins, spring waves break free. The moving shapes of ice, swelling into the northern shores, the green temple of forests, deep into the soul of man. When old watchfires start to kindle at the lakeside, piercing a mind into fathomless distance, cascading into the loneliness of solemn summer nights. The hum of wind in the trees, brief as the days now passed, withering to an early grave. Tears fall, like cold dew on the fields,the mist escapes the autumn shores, soon to join the winters glacial embrace. The spirits are passing home.