Myth

Pin back your ears when the rustic clock

Strikes the ides of the night

When the Zephyr plays melody on the Grain stalks in the fields

A jingle could be heard darkling

Accompanied by the indistinct rhymes and faint chimes

And step out for a while and behold

A glimmering bonfire could be seen from the distance.

Troubadours they are! 

And I live in their songs

I'm a myth...