A giant shadow mars the night…
Crow weaves his darkness all around,
Beneath the Hunter’s Moon he flies
To terrorise the Dancing Ground.
Dark wings weave spells of dark and cold,
Yet far away from children’s cries
The gloom is pierced by shafts of light…
Spear-bright, the Silver Fox replies.
For none may blight the Dancing Ground,
The night is theirs, to dance and call
With flame and drumbeat, woven bright,
The birth of Winter from the Fall.
Crow spreads his wings against the flame
He will not flee the coming fight
But stands to wait for Silver Fox
Who wields the golden fire light.
And closer, now, the torches come,
The trees aflame with Summer’s death.
Their spirits join the shifting dance
As watchers wait with bated breath.
Crow challenges the Foxes’ drum,
With wings of night, he holds the scene
Illuminated by the flame
That paints the shadows…
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