I've put poems into this chapter as the prologue needs to be at least 500 characters:

  Words

  Sometimes you can focus

  so much on the green;

  That you miss the blue and

  white above.

  Hallencoly Hill

  That time on Hallencoly Hill,

  I saw them dancing,

  Swallows no less than five,

  Larks no more than fifteen.

  Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

  A display to herald the Zenith

  of Spring;

  Or the ever-growing Floral song that leads

  into June Summer.

  Each swallow skipped in skirts of

  navy with blouses of snow,

  Whilst their heads were crowned with

  garlands of crimson roses.

  The prancing, springing and

  joyous larks,

  Were bedecked in stars to the

  Swallows' moon.

  Yet each had their hair shaped into a

  nautical crest;

  From aqua one way;

  Then surf-ultra the other.

  Yet it was their song that came

  to me;

  Entwined with harps, piccolos,

  and flutes,

  That danced from twirling invisible

  hands.

  Words also sprang from the

  avian lips;

  To the accompaniment of butterflies

  cut from the very sky.

  Of woods and towns so far away,

  That never would I hear of them between

  breaks of day.

  Of ages old, and ages new;

  Yet they had remained in

  chiselled prime;

  Floral Mountains not even Time

  could wither.

  Till one spied me with a single

  glance.

  Fresh, unearthly and with more

  than a dance.

  And up they flew without a second

  glance.

  Not nymphs, dryads or even

  Elf-maids,

  But Maltese-crossed Swallows and

  Cloud-passing larks.

  To continue their dance upon the brow

  of a cumulus hill.

  'Words'

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