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In the woods,
Under a full moon,
A circle of strega,
Dancing around,
Their horns held high,
The cup is filled,
The circle is open,
But unbroken,
So mote it be.
I have a deep feeling for the literary world. I love it best in pieces. It can consume you, which is one aspect of it I like. It can become your life, vividly, pictures painted in words that give rise to form. Is not form reality?