There they sit on twisted perch,

Moonchild-favored, nature-birthed.

Face unseen, dark silhouette,

Spear-clenched warning, lest we forget-

What nature giveth, death shall take,

Be it plague or famine, friend or fake.

Just shy its vantage, young stag seen

Crown held high, muscles lean.

From dark pools, youth bows to drink,

Sipping that which drives souls to darkest brink,

Sorrow, treachery, ire, and woe,

And that which hurtles us towards our foe,

Arrogance, ambition, and blind devotion,

Those traits which set our end in motion.

And yet in ripples there are hinted,

Higher virtues, freshly minted,

Patience, courtesy, and strength of arm

Innocence protected and kept from harm.

With each lap, more ripples summoned

Is reason cherished? Are hearts hardened?

Whatever path is chosen, death awaits

Crouched patiently upon the pool’s far bank

And ever above, dark watcher waits on twisted perch,

Moon-child favored, nature birthed.