Walking the halls 

was walking in circles.

She seemed to be consistently planning 

Scribing the 

walls with codes,

 with signs,

 with messages.

The bear skin coat whooshed and swayed 

as she eddied about.

"Miles deep and endlessly wide, you are my constant, my confide"

  

Speaking to no one, but with the wind. 

A wind that had been both kind and cruel,

The wind had be the culprit who had blown the storm and 

Hampered the speed 

of her carriage as she had sped 

to her fathers side the night he had passed. 

She had not been present 

to hear her fathers last words 

no one had heard them they had been lost to the wind 

and this troubled her deeply. 

On the day of the funeral 

a warm breeze flew through 

the cemetery 

and it caught her attention.

The castle was brightly coloured

the story was to be found under the ground, 

hidden in the details of the landscape

The farmers disliked the blood red poppies growing in their yellow fields of wheat and corn, still they could do nothing to be rid of them. 

Once they had believed that poppies were made by Somnus, the god of sleep, to ease the goddess Ceres of all her cares and to cause her to sleep, her refreshing slumber reviving the crops.

Only now the colours menaced the farmers ever more,

their red colour had grown so dark no one dared to approach

The soul of the poppies had caught a dark and menacing fear,

tried as the could their colour kept deepening and did not stop

growing more intense.

It seems that their incredible loneliness flourished 

where there had once been mystery