Enter at Will
Now, shimmering horizon
Running down the rocks and sand.
Higher it was not, but
Standing twisted, a knotty heap.
The Demon’s fortress;
Waiting for her.
She politely gave her lace shawl.
There was no heat in the flames,
but always to the side
that shadowy magic.
Found poetry. Made: July 15th, 2010. First found poetry I ever did.
Taken from Howl’s Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones