MatthiasVire

So sat aged Chronos silent In the graying hall of a fairy noon. Still over graves he may be quiet, Yet here was still as the moon. Twas not thoughts that took his sighs, Nor quotes that shook his heavenly thews. Nay, hands had stilled for the lord of times For want of some other views. Woods withering as waves die, The earth breathed ragged in the dank gloom. And time looked on and wished for a lie, As the land fell to its doom. Standing up by a small pace, The elder of days saw the land sere. Red mud flowed across the aerie face, And visions drew many a tear. All the land had withered, Black soil turned blue and bodily clear