---

Alas I reached the specters of

A cottage behind the mist

A door sprung open, but sprung so

Time ago, before the missed

Mossy void I take no leave this day

Of my north utmost

Fingers delicate flung open mine

The portal, with a starving fist

A withered mark scored in the grain

Behind the moss

The one she bore, scar of my nails

Art of a loss

A lock corroded lay on boars

That once took us fas

‘Twas that to the door

The moss I never locked