Feb 25, 2023
Seasonmakers, a poem
Olden stories of olden times. Older even than those.
Stories told in caws and grunts toung, by claw, by toes.
Olden stories in olden times, ricochet off and then back on again till speaker is forgot.
Strange beasts, or not beasts but trees of sorts, rumored mountain of flesh and stone.
They what red flower grow and thwart the clouds and slay this chill with danger glow.
Unseasonable this warmth sure is, and cooking my cousin kin.
But share a bite, let sleep tonight, and into your service I'll crawl deeper in.