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,
a time when my dear friend
slept in the shadows and
the hearts of boys yet to be men.