The Forest of Ebonshire

Alone at tranquil twilight,
A distant churchbell tolls,
The wind forms a ghostly choir
To summon lost and wayward souls—
Snow drifts down from the heavens,
Like ghosts lost in the night—
Ice crystals cling to trees,
To set the woods aglow with light—

Along a forgotten forest path,
There stands an arch of ancient stone—
And amidst the hallowed ruins,
A solemn figure stands alone—
Snow comes to rest on raven's wings,
Covering black quills in ivory white—
And peace settles upon the earth
Beneath the ebon shroud of Winter's Knight—

Eternal solitary vigil, my sentence to serve
This do I keep, as spectral guardian
Of locale too long shrouded, clad within mist and memory
Rarely beheld by mortal eyes
Appearing once per year to caution, to relate the tale
Of my own fate

From greyest clouds above descending, I come to stand
Setting foot once more upon beloved soil
Ebonshire, my adored sanctuary, treasured above all others
To cast tenderest glance once more upon you
And implore your sons and daughters
Beware meeting my own fate
For this alone have I come again, as I always will
Until this land is never more beholden of human eyes

Brisk wind soothing me, as lover's caress once did
Snow cascading from the heavens, tiny frigid ivory floral petals
Descending as a blanket to cloak the earth in pristine peace
And shroud beloved glens in splendid radiance.