Amid the Vestiges of Spiraling Night,

Twirling to the Nightingale’s Lyrical song,

Mystical Muse, Neither right nor wrong,

Time Weaves her Enigmatic Light.

There She Dances, both Imminent and Lore,

Peace and Parody Her Beguiling Spell,

While Hours, like Tides, Perpetually Ebb and Swell,

And Mortals, Her Graces, ever Implore.

Hush Sweet Lark!
Sing Bright, Fair Crone,
There She Dances,
Ever Alone!

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~Morgan~
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Beautiful Original Artwork by: Cornacchia at Deviantart.com