A/N
I own nothing,
but a rhyme or two.
I don't earn money,
I write for myself
and, dear reader,
You.
Cottages stand on either side of the narrow road,
Looking old, regular, just like the square,
And yet, about this place many stories are told.
There is magic hidden in the monument and elsewhere.
On the wood before the remains of someone's home
There are golden letters, showing love and support.
A bit further is a graveyard, hiding so many souls, now long gone.
Have the ones guilty of their deaths ended up in court?
Many familiar names are carved in the stones,
And perhaps a sentence or two, in the honor of those who died,
There's a mysterious sign on one,
How much more secrets does this place hide?
Next to graves is a church. Great people lived and died, in this humble, hollow place.
In this dark times here are lingering the shadows of the past,
Drawing all the visitors in their tight and nostalgic embrace.
How long will this war, this one man's madness, last?
Great person was born here and his family was slaughtered.
Look better over the memorial stone,
you'll see the statues of one person alive and two more dead.
They were the doe and the deer,
And like every other family,
They lived happily here,
Not knowing that their son
Will be the saviour,
The Chosen One.
Cottages stand on either side of the way,
Visitors come here to pray,
Never to stay,
Because these are Dark times,
Even during the day.