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A night in Carpathia.

The moon glimmers frost

on sheets of snow through

forests of moss.

A knight of still

gallivants through hills

As mistral string opens her cheeks

to bays of silver.

Lo!

The summer scented song

of the lady in snow

,while wounded partridges

burnish gardens of ice..

She deliberates on the sun

catching gasping woodbine.

Breathing through the hems of mist..

And even the white of peaks enter your forestal room...

Fill the night with ambergris,

let holly garnish your brow,

kneel in tombs of wax

as we pray for the end of Christ.

Carpathia hold me fast.

We ride hand in hand

viewing a circus of rakes,

a troupe brought to your land,

an exhibit of fairies,

holding fallen stars

and phantoms gilding through

crimson glades.

Oh!

Forget the jesters and show

I d prefer to chase your ember hair

as you hold Leda in your arms.

Gouged by cruel lily pads

and the purple blows of spring.

Fighting for the renaissance!

Your snowy majesty

with buxom legs

and shadowed greaves,

Hunting under peals

of thunder,

exposing welkin flame.