Acaciathorn

Once, wise men said the Earth was flat, Now they say a sphere But I the traveler have seen A world arranged in tiers. It’s three steps up and three steps down With nothing in between Each step a realm unto itself One black, one gray, one green. The uppermost, the sunlit land Is lush with verdant choir Babbling brooks and rustling reeds Birdsongs in the briar. Down below, the Black Land sleeps Silent and austere Into this reverent quietude All must disappear. The middle tier, a hidden plane, Of neither sun nor shade; A misty, lonely everscape Where those like me have strayed. The Gray Land has no native souls All wanderers are we Du