Young Adventure Poem by Kevin Maroney

The red wind whispers things unknown,
the tales tell of stories untold,
the elders spin paths of yore,
and deep in the night, are they made.

Terrifying demons, blue or black,
lovely sirens, for whom the romantic has a knack,
sickly foes, prone to wreck and wrack,
deep in the night, for nothing lack.

For the young no rock holds a foot,
trips them, traps them in a nook,
with grasping branch and fallen tree,
turns their path from the right and free.

Not from a cage or path already known,
or from story or tale yet already told.