Festina (Nivel 1) mail warning

[Highly recommended to read it while listening to this]

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And legends speak of a maiden fair,
With fiery locks and a forest stare;
Her eyes were green as spring’s first leaf,
And smile - joy and grief.

They say she walks where no path stays,
Through tangled woods and twilight haze.
With leaves woven in her hair,
And moves like wind.

Her steps are light, but leave no trace,
She haunts the woods with ghostlike pace.
Her beauty sharp, her gaze is wild —
A siren's call, a tempting maiden.

To her they go, the lost, the bold,
Drawn in by beauty, soft and cold.
She speaks in sighs, her lips taste sweet —
Then leaves them broken at her feet.

They say she drinks the will, the flame,
And leaves behind a shell, a name.
No love she keeps, no tears she cries —
Just fading moans and hollow eyes.

She dances where the shadows meet,
With flowered hair and silent feet.
She'll smile — and all you’ve known will pale,
A life exchanged for faerie tale.

And there was one, who met her gaze,
A man who wandered through the haze.
He searched the woods for herbs and roots,
When she appeared in silent boots.

He kissed her lips, and in her eyes,
He saw the stars, the moon, the skies.
She spoke no word, but with her grace,
She led him deep, to shadowed place.

He loved her wild, with burning heart,
Yet knew not where his soul would start.
He almost followed, almost gone,
To lands where sun and moon are none.

But fate, it seems, had other plans,
For hunters came with sharpened hands.
They found him lost, with love-bound eyes,
And asked him where his company lies.

"She’s with me," he said, with softest smile,
And pointed where she danced a while.
But in that spot, there was no trace,
Just hollow ground, and empty space.

"There’s none," they said, "No one’s been here."
The man stood still, and swallowed fear.
"She was here — I swear," he cried,
But silence was the woods’ reply.

They named her Festina — swift and sweet,
For none could pause once at her feet.
She moved like dusk, she passed like flame,
And none who loved her stayed the same.

The name was born of lips gone dry,
Of breathless hearts and long-lost sighs.
Festina — haste, desire, flight —
A warning wrapped in soft delight.

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