Sunday, July 25

The great sun rises over golden plains of summer.
The world abounds with creatures without number.
Winds slowly sough through the motley leaves of fall
And swathe the land with Zephyr's call.
The Celts know that the year starts ere winter,
When on Samhain eve we cross the bridge 'tween here and hinter.
There's a time of rebounding life called spring,
When festively clad maidens will dance and sing
But the great year has more than this...

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