Conquerors

A poem about the magic of our ancestors, and their effect on nature.

Shadows of the ancestors

made of fire and ice

glitter in the forest mist.

Trees shiver their welcome,

supple branches outstretched,

feeling the crystals and flames

dance on their skin-bark

like the touch

of a ghostly

magic awakened

once more within.

Embers of the past ignited.

Glorying in their power.

Readying for battle.