Blossoms frozen over
Hard ground
Tough to touch
Rough to feel
Yett, ensprouted vines, shrouded in bushels of hardy grass
They pull something out of such torn earth.
They tangle up and out
They Ripen to a crest of leaves
At a crest of rosy crimson and silver
--Taking a peek o'er the peak
Diminuative sprites: Ashtolomer, and Synet.
They seat themselves to see their partner
Until a time of chime and sunshine
Where they wish to fullfill
For now, it satisfies to simply entreat
A frozen globe, Enwrapped in time.
Warm within, old housing of Djinn.
A Hope-dance, Ignorant of Rime.
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