Mittwoch, 14. September 2011
The same moon I see
The same path I walk,
Through iron veils of life and death.
Two trees have grown
Three trees arise,
In a book written or not.
And a falcon that does not exist
Circles under a golden sun
Over an impossible valley.
With his feather the book will be written without a sign nor rune:
A web of possibilities
Flows into the cauldron.
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