fiddlers green

we started in the north 

olanvot 

the green man 

not the mistaken jake 

but the fiddlers 

the mean 

the muse of the compass 

the scythe’s blade 

curved like a horn 

the minotaur of the underworld 

and the sharpness of the crescent moon’s rings 

the entity of the serpent 

representing time 

the ground will shake 

swallowing the heavy footed 

a glimpse into the void 

the armor shines with its black 

giving vision to those who see 

the elusive forge 

that's the hammer of the gods, traveler 

ground yourself 

and dig in