Summoned on a stone by a wind of sorrow,
Looking hurt and lonely, rests a little sparrow.
Sadness, resignation one can read aloud,
As the storm approaches as a darkened cloud.
Of the road behind her, only God may know,
For the road ahead, carries only snow -
Soft like silver feathers, deadly as a blade -
She must venture forth or her life will fade.
Blowing wind is roaring, cold extends its claws,
All life now’s retreating as the tension grows.
On that stone, still resting, now her head is low,
Rising up a prayer - like angel below.
~ by Telperion
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