Wings of Winter

A mouse,
Alone, afraid.
Face against mortal threat.
With sword in hand that he prepares
To meet

The old.
Wings of Winter,
Avian of legend.
Its white distinct coat of feathers
That glows

In night;
That doom such lives
By the given chance of few.
Rest fellow souls whose eyes cannot
Be shed.

At sleet
And snow and hail,
Cold breathes its fangs.
Lurk beyond the frozen wasteland
To meet.

A mortal,
Against such fate.
Warrior begin shape.
Success or not, he must proceed
The End.


Art:Wings of Winter by pelboy


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