Graft

Ever hiss did the blade twist up from the boggy marsh and the feeling did pass. Swords and great spears kissed the blue streets, thrown or dropped as the broken stuck from out the ice held path and roadways along their fallen tribesmen. A light not meant for old men gave the shadow its course to glint and then fade away. This ripple of blue fluttering thought was far better or worse than any ghost between his father's cryptic speeches and like that nothing that always listened to such order was the thought back to his sunflowers and Edmund would be his hope this day. Only her dreams held electric to the fading wind, such to foretell the fog of this simple farmer and his path as it set before them only to the roaming road of the old marsh, far from those dreadful graves of this dying land. Sorrow into the one day in a dying eye of the sparrow and Edmund would promise to never take from this again as such innocence held to experiment, he knew well what he did to this tree.