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Leaves
shudder
And blush at your passing, Lord
Remembering the days of summer
When you, Green and pollen bright
Danced in the warm, caressing winds
Proud and vital as the upthrusting oak.
But now the sword-edge of frost
Looms from the mist
Balancing night and day
A blade Poised at your throat
You shudder,
And the leaves shudder with you
You grip your heart to the branch
Savoring that one last touch
Then you leap Spiraling through the crisp air
As you dive upon the frost-blade
Dying the leaves
Red with your willing sacrifice
You rise, your lips
Pale as the blade buried within you
And make your way to the darkened shore
At your feet, the leaves rustle and sigh
And shudder
And blush at your passing
Lionrhod, Mabon 1994
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