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Each The Death of Her BeforeThe corpse of Summer is still walking. She does not know that she is dead, She dances in with yellow footsteps And turns the autumn on its headEach The Death of Her Before
And when the Autumn closes o'er us Banks of storm clouds grey as lead, Her thing fingers tear the hillsides, And winds lift what they hath bled.
Winter, she rides in at midnight, Shattered laughter falls like snow Curling in the velvet darkness Breathing ice on those below.
The Green Lady tiptoes softly In between the shards of woe, Coaxes warmth into the landscape, Caresses life and makes it
by *AutumnEstuary
| [OH SHITE ITS ALL HETALIA LATELY HOW DID THAT HAPPEN?] |
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| So you herd I liek: webcomics, surrealism, my computer, camping, kayaking, incredibly masochistic bike rides, fangirling, the spanish language, history, literature, staying up all night, watching stupid AMVs on youtube, the voices in my head, HETALIA, Wicked, Monty Python, Les Miserables, british spelling, traveling, bagels, stories, and teh gay. ----------- DO NOT WANT: maths, cooked vegetables, college applications, lacking internet, sleep, writing about things I don't like. |
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Jesus: My disciples, I will now grant you my blessing of salvation.
Disciples: Can we have kings or might instead?
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