Splicing in Twaine
Merry loops of golden light
Wrapping around cranial mounds
Crowning kingly forms
Water holds no mercy
Yet veils itself with softness undermining the powers that lie beneath
It takes what falls into it
Those that survive are upheld on the banks as the few that made it through initiation
The only thing that has its foundation as its roof
Its speaks not to anyone
But roaringly commands without question or remorse
Little Wren 