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Argante's Well
As the Sunrise is anew
theirs a cold mist beneath the sunshine.
And An old stream trickling beneath the trees,
is hidden from the mornings eyes.
Concealed within the deepest of woods,
theirs a moment not quite understood.
Theirs light abound,
where there should be no light.
And the sharpest of stones that lay near,
trips those that do not know.
And leaves them lying there on the ground,
left to feed upon, by the crows.
Near a glade, their is a shambling stone well
bereft of natural water.
A void of black and nothing else,
contained within the darkness.
And the weeds that do come around
reaching from the soft dirt.
They claw through the ground,
for those that do not know there fate - their fate that is bound.
Close your eyes now, for there is no sound
beneath where the raindrops fall.
Shadows show nearby where the rowan grows.
And Argante waits for those
who cannot see the truth.
