I've put poems into this chapter as the prologue needs to be at least 500 characters:

Words

Sometimes you can focus

so much on the green;

That you miss the blue and

white above.

Hallencoly Hill

That time on Hallencoly Hill,

I saw them dancing,

Swallows no less than five,

Larks no more than fifteen.

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A display to herald the Zenith

of Spring;

Or the ever-growing Floral song that leads

into June Summer.

Each swallow skipped in skirts of

navy with blouses of snow,

Whilst their heads were crowned with

garlands of crimson roses.

The prancing, springing and

joyous larks,

Were bedecked in stars to the

Swallows' moon.

Yet each had their hair shaped into a

nautical crest;

From aqua one way;

Then surf-ultra the other.

Yet it was their song that came

to me;

Entwined with harps, piccolos,

and flutes,

That danced from twirling invisible

hands.

Words also sprang from the

avian lips;

To the accompaniment of butterflies

cut from the very sky.

Of woods and towns so far away,

That never would I hear of them between

breaks of day.

Of ages old, and ages new;

Yet they had remained in

chiselled prime;

Floral Mountains not even Time

could wither.

Till one spied me with a single

glance.

Fresh, unearthly and with more

than a dance.

And up they flew without a second

glance.

Not nymphs, dryads or even

Elf-maids,

But Maltese-crossed Swallows and

Cloud-passing larks.

To continue their dance upon the brow

of a cumulus hill.