Make way for the witch clapping drums on her walk through the beating forest listen In the chiming bells, the chants of voices Fear not the unknown, it becomes familiar Talk to her as the lake talks to the sky Rest, live.
Resting in that prism; a population of magnificent reflections. Revealed in the diamond edges, ideas bounce from light. Contours are made home to ideas of crystal clarity when you hold your prism in the fullness of your hands.
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