The lofty night sky seems to stir unanswered thoughts through dabs of a gentle breeze.
it becomes the lingering of innocence shedding away the canopy of leaves from the primordial trees.
It serenades the moonlight with a composition; casting guiding light of shadows towards its transition.
For Its crescendo begins to fiddle the strings of a riddle, the sky hails down a leaden rain.
It now surrounds hallowed grounds with spoken sounds of grace.
As the rain comes to a simmer the child begins to unwither:
"But if It is the One Thing raised to gain; if it shrouds around under a majestic reign, then what brings forth its pleasure from its own pain?"
Silence encompassed the sky as the Elder studied the distance:
"My child: take heed of your suspicions, if it's to ripple upon your puddle; let it be mentioned of a suspicion so subtle..."
"..Within our caress the crevice of our skin continues to crease, but for you my child, to look beyond Its Golden Fleece; you may know: "we shall truly never cease."