Transylvanian Horses

The coffins of desire have had a hold on me, but no more.
Peace, has set in.

I ask, What month is it?
Do tides rise high?
And does Luna control our minds?

For the fabric of illusion has become weak this season,
I suspect it is winter,
That calls for such merry and glee.

Mist has set in,
but I see it clear.
Over leaves & petals,
I smell the smell of morning dew,
And in the air too.

I hear horses trot,
A figure commanding the north,
I heard the elves squirrelly whispering the other day,
and deep in the forest I saw sprites fly past in the dark.

And horses trot
A figure commands the north.
For the fabric of illusion has become weak this season,
I suspect it is winter,
That calls for such merry and glee.

All that slithers and crawls,
And the strength of beasts,
I summon thee.

And horses trot
A general commands the north,
A pair of dice rolls,
As the eight Immortals watch.

I ask, What month is it?
Do tides rise high?
And does Luna control our minds?
I suspect it is winter,
That calls for such merry and glee.

Ford.

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