A fairy knows it witnesses the last of her ages. Ends too soon
the era of huge heroes and dark mages. The mood is sullen more
today under gray crying sky. To the forest to converse with
friends she decides to fly. Both her pointed ears, the spirit
focuses hard to strain. But the Forest’s soul long completed its
weakening wane. Raising a voice it calls out several trees by
their name. Woods gave up their ghost, she gets only silence
when she came. Owls continue to hoot, but roots and grass no
longer laugh. Or can such sprites not hear with their power far
below half. Generations ago at night to mountains they would
rush. To see the goings on of the weird sisters in hillside
brush. The fire they made dance and their bodies could change
shape and twist. But decades past they laid down, becoming one
with mist. Still this pixie is able to fly, though who can say
how. What time she has left none know, but it feels much shorter
now. It is neglect and lack of care that causes them to fade.
Detached from humans their