Sanctuary for the poetic attention, insightful thought and dedication to awakening into conscious being. [email protected]
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I went into the hazelwood because a fire was in my head. I cut and peeled a hazel wand and hook a berry to a thread. When white moths were on the wing and moth-like stars were flickering out I dropped the berry in the stream and caught a little silver trout. When I had got to blow the fire aflame I heard a rustling on the floor and someone call be by my name. It was a glimmering girl with apple blossom in her hair who called me by my name and ran and faded in the brightening air. Now I am old with wandering through hollow lands and hilly lands I shall find out where she went kiss her lip and take her hand walk through tall and dappled grass and pluck till time and times are done the silver apples of the moon the golden apples of the sun. Yates
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