Beneath the shroud of morning’s breath,
Where Alora treads, there’s no such thing as death.
The world awakes, the day anew,
All bathed in a gossamer hue.
She dances through the waking glade,
Where light and shadow softly trade.
Her fingers trail, the mists obey,
And in their wake, the colors play.
A symphony of silent sound,
As life stirs deep within the ground.
The creatures of the earth arise,
Their forms obscured from prying eyes.
In Alora’s realm, the secrets keep,
Where willows weep and lovers leap.
The veil of vapors, thin and sheer,
Hides the magic that lingers near.
For she is the warden of the mist,
Where every droplet, sunbeam-kissed,
Holds a story, old and true,
A tale of the old world, and the new.
So let the fog enfold you whole,
For within its folds, it frees the soul.
And in the heart of that silent world,
The Chronicles of Alora, gently unfurled.
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beautiful poem
Thank you 😎
Beautiful poem! A tale of the old world and the new ! Well shared 💐
Thank you 😊