Once upon a midnight scene
In woods enchanted from their seam,
On a clearing bleak and dreary
Subdued in hues of green and black – quite eerie
A frail light guided by a steady hand
And footsteps dragging on the forest land
A figure white as ghouls themselves
Though opaquely appearing herself,
Welcomed bitterly by some bright eyes
Because the glooming wick shed light,
Disrupting sleep, a vis’tor unannounced
And drawing glances all around
Our heroine quite unaware
Of the stir she caused right there
Innocently whispering
“’Tis a place I’ve never been!
Embodiment of strangeness pure
Is this valley shaped by blueish moor!
A rosy streams flows in November,
Gold butterflies, they fly in splendour!”
‘Tis a place I’ve never been,
‘Tis a place I’ve never seen!”
And so the girl went on ahead,
Eyes following her every step,
Observed by creatures rare and common,
Wingéd frogs and speaking blossoms,
Curious by nature some,
Though they dared not to her close come.
At once she stopped dead in her tracks –
Even scared to death perhaps,
Before her on a branch not high
A raven perched, who looked quite sly,
“Child,” he spoke and raised
His voice to her, so listen may
“Living in a world of wonder
Your reveries not torn asunder
Blossoming in meadows far
Yet near to where we curr’ntly are,
Join us in our flower bed,
Escape the solemn world you fled!
Virtuous, wise and wide-eyed spawn
Named for no-one less than dawn!
Aurora, child, you stand create,
One foot divine in heaven’s gate!”
Innocuous as Aurora was
One blink would have easily settled the cause.
If not in that spare second did
The sun an eyelid start to lift.
And she started to back off,
Turned, decided to take off,
Stumbling over roots of trees
Her candle, it went out with ease.
Standing in front of the forest
Her dream still seemed equ’lly horrid,
And even if not disbelieving
Her eyes were shut, almost grieving
Over her own folly, well,
The solamnbulist on her dream dwelled.
We rise in light, from light, for light,
Where heat shall flower and spin,
We rise in flame, from flame, for flame,
Where flame's dance shall begin.
We wax-bound statues, standing cold,
Care not for looking, growing old
Atop our perches silver-bound,
To turn the slow-spaced years around.
We rise in light, from light, for light,
Where heat shall flower and spin,
We rise in flame, from flame, for flame,
Where flame's dance shall begin.
So let us shed our finery;
Entombed in chrysalis for thee
Here we stand in silent trance
We who were born to, glowing, dance
We rise in light, from light, for light,
Where heat shall flower and spin,
We rise in flame, from flame, for flame,
Where flame's dance shall begin.
Let us give warmth to fingers pale,
Upon the pen, the book, the ale,
Create by us; so crafted, we
At spark's command our flames shall free
We rise in light, from light, for light,
Where heat shall flower and spin,
We rise in flame, from flame, for flame,
Where flame's dance shall begin.
This light will dance from wall to wall,
Til' wicks shall burn and dark shall fall,
Once short-lived sun, and daylight brief,
Have gone, we dance for your relief.
We rise in light, from light, for light,
Where heat shall flower and spin,
We rise in flame, from flame, for flame,
Where flame's dance shall begin.