This Bitter Language

I know your streets, sweet city,

I know the demons and angels that flock

and roost in your boughs like birds.

I know you, river, as if you flowed

through my heart.

I am your warrior daughter.

There are letters made of your body

as a fountain is made of water.

There are languages

of which you are the blueprint

and as we speak them

the city rises.

Elka Cloke

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And down she walked along the street,

A handsome lad she hoped to meet

And sore by dawn were her dainty feet

But all the boys were gay.

Elka Cloke

Stichwörter: magnus-bane cassandra-clare city-of-lost-souls

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