The Dance of Samhain

Happy Samhain

Dance with the stars,
howl with the moon.
Shed our skins,
free our wings.

Slip past the veil,
spin their tales.
No here or there –
we feast together.

Brooms in hand, we fly tonight –
our joy a chorus of laughter.
Trees disrobe as we remember
what dies will live again.

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Bite Harder

Milk Thistle
Milk Thistle

Sharp tongues lick delicate skin,
cuts go unseen.
Muffled pinpricks leave no trace,
words minced with a feather sword.
Teeth sink deeper than the sound of the bark,
but faded bite marks are easily concealed.