Them sketch

" Aye, laughin˙ and talkin´ wild he was,
An´ that to a Shadow
out on the grass,
A Shadow that made
my blood grow chill,
For never its like
have I seen on the hill.
An´ the moon came up
and the stars grew white,
An´ the hills grew black
in the bloom o´ the night,
An´ I watched till the death-star
sank in the moon
And the moonmaid fled
with her flittermice shoon,
Then the Shadow that lay
on the moorside there
Rose up and shook
its wildmoss hair... "

"Them"
Acrylic sketch from my Celtic sketchbook