The lost ones play there,
With the soft moans of the trees,
there is no peace for those who breathe.
They’re caught with lily blooms in their eyes,
as they watch you writhe, writhe, writhe.
They leave with the rustling of fallen leaves,
only to return with a winter’s breeze.
Play for just one dance,
they will grant a mere mortal a chance.
Haunted by their flowers as they intertwine,
One lover’s promise can begin to climb.
One more kiss for the wicked before they are pricked,
A curse from the lost ones as they begin to forgive.
For all who dance with the eaves are forgotten,
Forever in the weeds they sleep in the autumn.
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