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~ By Courtesy of Others ~
Birth
He leans down from the tree, grey
beard stained red, reaching
into the
void
between ice
and fire. Dancing,
they will themselves incarnate.
Hungry, they feast on
blood freely
giv'n.
Sovereign,
they call none master,
not even he who called them.
© Rebecca Buchanan
Eternal Haunted Summer - Pagan Songs and
Tales
An ezine dedicated to Pagan poetry, short fiction and reviews.