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

Aller à la citation

---

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

Mots clés magnus-bane cassandra-clare city-of-lost-souls

Aller à la citation

---

Page 1 de 1.

---

---