Like a pipers tune his words bring mirth tempting nymphs from the woods and convincing faerys

out of their hearths. A silver dripped tongue like that of the fey a man from above yet here to stay his fingers do twidle with the might of a master the rythym he writes with, is that of longing desire. Then as his words of silver flow the beings about him begin to dance a show the beauty, the elegance, the refinement and grace his words flowed together making a beautiful place. An image of woodlands, of deserts and seas of broken hearts and shattered dreams. From terrors and the blood of others to star crossed lovers and beautiful mothers. His ability to weave such beautiful dreams to be able to create such amazing scenes. And so this is the poem of the fey let me not lead you astray for the words of this man are a gift of above and nothing could be more beloved.