Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Ravings of a Rabid Werewolf - Poetry by Wolf - 38. Through the Mist
Th’ morning’s thick drow obscures th’ dark loch;
Shrouding from view even th’ naurby rock.
A group gathers near, thair cuppa in hand,
To await th’ view that wull be sae grand.
A ghostly aberration starts tae form;
Slowly taking shape oan this cauld, grey morn.
First lines 'n' blocks 'n' finally a roof;
It tries tae bade hidden while bein' aloof.
Th’ fog slowly lifts lik’ a freish bride’s veil;
Giving a stunning view fur a’ tae hail.
At last, the sight we’ve a’ longed tae behold;
Eilean Donan's wonders start to unfold.
- 9
- 3
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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