Alas I reached the spectres of a cottage behind the mist
A door sprung open, but sprung so time ago, before the missed
Mossy void I take no leave this day of my north utmost
Fingers delicate flung open mine, the portal, with a starving fist
Landrake
A withered mark scored in the grain behind the moss
The one she bore, scar of my nails, art of a loss
A lock corroded lay on boars that once took us far
'Twas that to the door, the moss I never locked
Landrake
Landrake