A fairy knows it witnesses the last of her ages.
Ends too soon the era of huge heroes and dark mages.
The mood is sullen more today under gray crying sky.
To the forest to converse with friends she decides to fly.
Both her pointed ears, the spirit focuses hard to strain.
But the Forest’s soul long completed its weakening wane.
Raising a voice it calls out several trees by their name.
Woods gave up their ghost, she gets only silence when she came.
Owls continue to hoot, but roots and grass no longer laugh.
Or can such sprites not hear with their power far below half.
Generations ago at night to mountains they would rush.
To see the goings on of the weird sisters in hillside brush.
The fire they made dance and their bodies could change shape and twist.
But decades past they laid down, becoming one with mist.
Still this pixie is able to fly, though who can say how.
What time she has left none know, but it feels much shorter now.
It is neglect and lack of care that causes them to fade.
Detached from humans their road to the end is one they made.
Used to talk long with lochs guardians but there are not any.
In an age of light one savior’s story drives out many.