Once upon a time in a land as cold as Hoth there lived a lanky skeleton who’s skull was filled with moths
He found no peace in sitting. He found no joy in standing. One day he started strolling, the road was never ending
The nights were cold, the days grew colder. All the while his bones grew bolder.
His travels took him far, he learned the secrets of the stars. In his thirst for knowledge barred, his soul was ever scarred
He hid away from light of day, the moon illuminating bones. His home a cave, no splendor splayed, the sound of waves below
would lull his mind to tides of time, and sail his mood away. He found no rhyme, no hopeful sign to make him want to stay
Flow, flow let the whitecaps roll as the shore and the waters meet; slow to a stroll as the bells they toll the sounds resound through the street
(To Be Continued…)