Illyria
I escaped the shadow of death,
And rode towards the west,
To see those mountains bloom red.
Of crowns of pines and larches,
That static avalanche is made,
Part of the Elvenqueen’s favorite dress.
She has to flee, but not from me,
The dark clouds that followed,
In these holy lands will meet their fate.
May they come in the thousands,
Siege for days and hours,
In the end, victory shall be ours.
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Pigeons dance their feet in water ponds,
Jump to flight at once,
Beloved freedom has been won.
From that old stone tower,
Blooms a purple rose,
So fragile it may seem,
Yet be careful from the thorns.
In this realm of lush gardens,
Light as always been abundant,
It will always continue be so,
If brave men rise to meet their fate,
And let their fears go.
From my book Blue Butterflies
