SUNSET UPON THE HILLS
When the sunset strokes the hills,
Ask yourself which tree is open,
How old it is and how it feels
Three steps before the night’s evoken.
Touch your feathers, cry farewell.
Breathe in the sound of Samhain eve.
Where the stars are flying try to tell
To that tree so old beyond belief.
Your wings are spread, the dark is nigh.
The spirits
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