On pine robed paths a glass shoe winks
and Mena falls rapt as elves blind stars.
The wood lord weeps; it wilts her swoon
his holy smoke brims from ivy clad fonts
its musky haze trails to luna tree groves.
the elven fruits rise and dye her mouth
their tangy juice sprays red halos of light
so Mena's heart flows with royal elf blood
and soaks in grace to see death scythed.
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