Drawn
The skies darken, trees bow.
On the crumbling stone ledge,
with Gargoyle.
The air lashes at Earth far below.
Within and without, leaves in turmoil.
Ancient stone shingle, exhaled plummit.
Biting droplets assail antediluvian stone.
The Tempest will take what was home.
They want to show me something.
Next to the Well, I am given a tome.
They have filled the pages with images of themselves.
I stand at the door, filled with awed gloom.
The drawings are real.
A Merman swells on the timeworn page.
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