A Leavers Tail.

 There was a green light across the sky,

There led a subtle change of light,

It was then that the wind seemed to carry voices,

And it was then that the clouds ran from sight.

And in the shivering oceans, 

A great breath churned the sands,

And as the cup reached the saucer,

Did his hand guide itself about the strands of her hair.

 As dusk descended, 

As the summer sighed and ended,

Beyond the wall of the town she knew,

Throughout the halls of the homes in which she grew,

A thousand horrific memories crumbled,

Down came the ceilings, the walls all tumbled,

And in her still and waiting breath,

In the wide of her eyes, did she behold horror's death.

A pile before her, a wretched foul thing,

It writhed, it squelched, it screamed and it sung,

It sung the song of acceptance, of moving, of peace.

It led itself finally, by the porch and released,

The foulest and most haunting cry,

That disapeared with the dawn,

Along with the moisture in her eyes.

A new air had sprung, A new winter born.

In the gasp of the creature coming to be,

Was the quiet and knowing whisper of he,

With all else merely a dust on the ground,

It was a soft and familar hand that she found.

A light poured through growing branches, so gold,

Allowing coppers, emeralds and serene blues to unfold,

It was a world once read of, and in the calm of the morning,

It was her freshened eyes that recieved their subtle warning.

For she never heard the rumble at the oceans core,

And she never heard the voices that the wind had carried to shore.

But before her, in the new light of day,

Came the most peculiar little creature, to say;

 "It won't take long miss, and it won't hurt a tad,

But you're going to have to secure this find lad.

You might think he's here, but I assure you he is not,

What you're having right here, is a vision of the spot,

On which you will meet him, a day in November,

But you'll have to do very well to remember,

For I'll take your thoughts now, and all that you knew,

And then from here on, it's all up to you".

Before the poor girl could ask what it meant,

The feathered and furred thing ran off round a bend,

And whilst she had rid herself of her troubles,

Suddenly her mind was all riddles and puzzles.

And just like that, from the sweet scents of the woods,

Did the poor young girl wake up on a pile of books.