Nascence

Ere the sun rises in the east,

Dawn brings with it.

The gentle call of spring.

Long lost are the memories of frost.

Spread your wings, o’ child of earth.

Don your plumage of light,

Not of wax,

Not of glass.

Force the heavens into envy.

The sun shall not melt your feathers.

When all magic seems to cease,

When all things end,

When the fae have crossed the sea,

The sun shall not melt your feathers.

Just when the whole world

Seems just a wee bit darker,

And the eyes stain to see,

Be the match

That lights the way in turmoil.

Be the breath beneath the breeze

Be the earth beneath these fingers.

Be the water

That flows throughout the soul.

Not of wax,

Not of glass,

The sun shall not melt your wings.