Death, part six.

VI. Aftermath

In the aftermath
I walk through the fields,
half frozen,
half soaked
winter-kissed fields.
The black water gazes before me
through the still trees,
and drops of thick air
fall on my lips.
The frozen fairy queen
comes out
of her sternly forgotten
remembrance grave.
Elves and warriors
sit at the hearth,
in thought or in flesh,
and we laugh and revel
until the last light.
Some birds chirp
like they're waving "hello"
to the falling dark,
bringing hope to this end,
bringing wood to this fire.