Mount Canterlot

A book was found,
behind, beneath,
the shelves of mine,
to me, bequeathed.
Upon them sat,
my stories told,
so many lost,
both young and old.

But this one, new -
apparent age.
So old it was,
on inner page.
It's title, blocked,
in stranger verse,
in unknown words,
meaning dispersed.

I grabbed it soft,
in magic held,
with horn alit,
its words it tell'd.
I read it then,
I flipped it through,
Its pages turned,
each one so new.

I read of old,
of Canterlot,
before it changed,
its magic hot,
of spires grown,
of castle built,
on princess power,
to hide her guilt.

Beneath it lay,
not one but two!
Two sisters lost,
but one that knew.
On bones of gold,
on iv'ry spine,
her blood, a river,
flesh, a mine.

The mountain watches,
mountain waits,
behind those iv'ry,
shining gates.
A pony lay,
beneath our hooves,
with veins of cobbled,
street-like grooves.

So walk it softly,
walk with care.
For 'neath that cantered,
sparkling air,
lay princess body,
princess flesh,
the stones her skin,
of cobbled mesh.