Where the Night Wind Blows

Once I was mighty, in my home of old.
In cloak of night, I wrapped my mortal frame,
Strode forth intending deeds of daring bold,
And gladly took Ill Omen for my name.

On less than ash and air, I learned to feast,
And went to walk atop a mountain wall;
But in that lonely land, my strength decreased.
I loosely held my cloak, then let it fall.

Beneath, there stood a creature of no name,
That shivered in this high and airy place;
That found no comfort in its wisps of fame,
But longed for laughter and a kind embrace.
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