Sylphs wrapped my hands and feet in bandages
And this is why I come to you on warped limbs,
With warm smile weakening in the snow,
Trembling inwards to a hard line of pain,
Its last refuge lost in the surfeit of water
That sways, caressing the curve of the lower eyelid.
Somehow they managed to consume my soul.
With my last strength I can only stretch out on the ground.
Pale gold light traces the streams down my cheekbones.
I can only dream of mercies, never ask.
When I raised my head enough to see your feet,
I knew this was the end of my longest road.
The beginning was in the forest with the spirits.
The Green Man gave me a root to chew,
Which tasted reassuring, like dirt, like pond,
And made my dreams endless and life-like.
The specters kissed me on both cheeks and blessed me,
And the Summer bit my shoulders and rubbed my knees.
In between, I read a thousand books, and laughed.
I watched a thousand birds, and reflected blindly.
Breaking, I cared for nothing but my own thoughts,
And even when my fingers all fell apart
I paid the piper without a bat of an eye,
Although his advice was to surrender and die.