The Swords of the Ancients

“The Girl Who Smelled Of Pine”

Once, I met a girl who smelled of pine.
I saw you from a distance,
Winged goddess of death and
Beauty, pale, raven-haired,
But baring a smile that belied
The danger behind it, and
So I was drawn irresistibly
To you, heeding no warning.

Your eyes are a distant green
Light across the narrow bay.
Every whisper from your lips
A siren song, beckoning me.
I grew closer to you with each
Passing year, and yet you
Remained elusive, hovering
Just beyond my reach.

I know that I will find you again,
My lover who smells of pine,
No matter how many years or
Lifetimes may pass us by.
And I will never forget the
Scent of you, the brightness
And laughter that has faded
But will return in its time.