Out of the moor,
Through the door,
Footsteps sounding the corridor.

Limestone walls,
Tapestry calls,
Ripple like water as they fall.

Golden ears,
Silver tears,
They will fall no longer here.

Feel no fright,
See a Light,
The end of the tunnel reveals night.

Luminous stone,
Pale as bone,
Prominently shines, yet not alone.

The wolf turns stone,
Never go back home,
Hope for a better day of less fortone.

The maiden, silent, flees,
Through the hills, brush and trees,
From a tyrant patron that does as he please.

The moon beams leave silver streaks,
Which colors the distant mountain peaks,
The maiden scurries on and over a distant creek.

The moonscape performed as her friend,
But sunrise is its temorary end,
But the maiden only marches on when it arrives again...