16 August 2012
Misty tendrils slowly curl, A dreaming dragon's flicking tongue, Out of hollows, pearly shrouded, Against the walls over hill tops flung.
So much time and patient labor Have piled upward, stone by stone, This mighty bulwark, battle tested, Strong enough to defend alone.
Wind twisted trunks with black-green leaves Writhe across steep and rugged slopes. Crushing skies hang heavy and low, Black and gray, the colors of hope.
The gloomy mood of this guard tower, Lit by one lone guttering candle, Waits to be broken by your touch Upon that weathered oak door's handle.
Ending The Long Watch • Opuss № I