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Click hereIn the old lands,
Far and wide,
Held in young hands
And there abide
In the far abbey
No Father spoke,
With shingles shabby,
The dust woods soak.
Near the dead marsh,
Cold and Ruined,
A tower harsh,
At the fore end.
Come Young Wraiths of Hell
Wring the Far tower's
Soul Tree Bell
especially your refs to wraiths and such. BUt, I do question the caps in certain places. all in all, I found this poem interesting, at the very least. I look forward to reading more of your work.
sincerely,
~ maria