Yet another full moon arises from day.
Usual trumpet sounds coming from the clouds tonight.
Awfully peculiar.
Words from wings,
the goddess she sings.
The dilatoriness of the evening grew wicked with winters eve.
Nothing like some crumpets and some berries.
Often while indulging I can barely speak.
The flavor I savor.
How it quivers in me so deep.
It is Daughter Diana who grants me with lyrical speech.
When her house swallows my bronze plated bones, I fly in a synchronized swarm of birds.
Beyond this life into another world, I can float and sleep smoothly.
My life on my own.
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