The shadow of the second star
glides across creaking boards and
bloated sails, summoned by its youthful
keeper to sew it tight for the morn.
Safe from adults, hooked and
wigged, who pillage every source
for glittering trinkets and the dust
that brings spells of flight.
Yet twisted intentions hold no key,
only one power can grant the skies.
Belief.
From the full-lipped colours of
wild flowers, to the salt of deepest
seas, in the shimmer of a mermaid’s
scale and the warmth of a firefly’s glow
lies the echo of magic’s pulse, keeping
the ever grasping hands of Master
Time distant as dreams of rushing
hordes and striking clock towers.
Treeshallow Musings 