world is mist on glass
Beeches and lanters turned upside-down
Beneath a rose razor-sliver of moon.
Spiderwebs of shadows
By trees yet-denuded of springtime
Mark tracings on the
Young moon, young world,
Arising again of primordial
The phantoms that walk across lakes
And the sprites of
Stand forth- and watch the Sun reborn
Held in the
gentle arms of Lady Moon
Antique-tinted Oestre who stands to
Upon the greening fields
Making joyful play among the
Of winter's last frozen blood.
Sing out your silent songs
As the demon-beast that swallowed down the Sun
at last to try another year.
the Book of Shadows.