Whew! Made it back in for the last day.
Beneath the stars, shines the moon, Above the clouds, laden low. The rain falls on the leaves of the tree In the center of a box In the middle of the lot, reserved. Gnarled fingers cling to branches twisted, grown together, Long enough to lean upon. It sinks into earth wet and deep. The hand of Wood Witch rest upon the trunk of the tree, Old, lonely, longing. Flashing from the sky blinds them both, But not before they see the demons, Yellow, gleaming, hungry, Waiting for the sun and the men and the righteous. The Wood Witch whispers to the tree. They laugh with the thunder and rain and the earth. Arriving with the morning the sun the men and the cameras. Smiling faces stand to face the demons Until the branches of the tree reach down Until the earth cracks the lot Until the demons fall and rot to rust. The Wood Witch laughs in the heart of the tree As the sun guides her fingers to the sky of blue And her toes grow long and strong. Their young grow in the cracks, straight and tall. And the lot and the men and demons are forgotten by all, Except the Wood Witch, in the heart of the tree In the heart of the wood, dark and foreboding, And whispering words of warning.
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