Rise of the Queen

The bell chimed…one…two…eleven…twelve…

The wind whistle as dry leave from winter waltz in the spring air.

The moon will not rise today, it is clouded; evening had a forgetful spell.

The breeze is thus moist; the fragment of flowers from bouquets and on girth,

The unwanted one, fighting for their right of the pleasant smell.

The bell chime…one…

When, the moon peeped out; silhoutte are obelisks, trees are giants.

The ancient crucifix forming a net, entangling with each other;

She, the cat in black, is gray; her eyes are green glowing

A bouquet, her guard against the damp of the tile of the grave,

Extends her shadow giving her the guise of the unshaped spirit.

A gust. A howl. A shift of green light. The moon brightened its silver.

There she is. A fragrance first. The suspire of a wedding gown after.

Rise. Rise. Rise all. There they are. Rise all. Rise. Follow your queen.

Rise. Rise. Rise hunters. Go, satiate her bringing more hunters.

Rise. Rise all.

–xx–

Will like comments because I had tried something like this first time.

 

 

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/perfume/

 

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