The green clad maid is an old friend of mine

who wears my skin as warriors might.

Fragile bones held high and yet,

a slip of the tongue

and she cackles.

each silvery word turns to fate,

a starless night in foggy cliffs.

Dark eyes watch me through black,

as mine do theirs, yet I'll never turn away.

A step onwards,

Towards childhood

a time when my dear friend

slept in the shadows and

the hearts of boys yet to be men.