The crones, they whisper ,
Dark words into my ears,
They yearn young blood,
They crave its power,
And so they claw,
Each day harder,
They mean me harm,
This much is evident.
YOU ARE READING
Song Of The Muses.
PoetryErato, ancient keeper of the golden arts . Whisper tales from eons lost. Remind us mortals of stories lost throughout the ages ,remembered only by you,the muses.
8.
The crones, they whisper ,
Dark words into my ears,
They yearn young blood,
They crave its power,
And so they claw,
Each day harder,
They mean me harm,
This much is evident.
