Writer1326

Time is a fickle thing,

never in one spot twice.

Always on the run,

playing a wicked game,

with the mortals it torments.

It whispers sweet riddles,

melodies as soothing as a fiddle.

With a story only the wind knows,

I watch in dead silence as the snow,

falls onto the land, engulfing it in a hug.

Each snowflake dances in the icy air,

as animals come closer; warm and snug.

The moon is forever changing,

never staying the exact same-

for more than a day.

As if it changes its mind everyday.

I am like the moon.

Though, my phases last months.

Once a holiday full of vast traditions,

celebrated by Celtic Pagans.

The veil between the living and dead thins,

as celebrations go on, the dancing begins.

Fires roar to life as the flames dance-