In the roots of this enchanting tree
You chose a life of mischief and decree

Tears, corrode the ancient bark
This path leads to the dark.

Alone, in this dynasty you closed your eyes,
Despite hearing the fairies cries
.

Projections of facing the lights,
Dancing in the midst of Fables and sprites
.

You conjured your name and proclaimed yourself king,
You, the feather of the same corrupted wing.

Sylphs awaken, gales arising, ready to strike,
To restore what was once lifelike.

© L.B Rheaven