The old witch crow,
silver at her sides
swept her way
through the corridor
gandering her gaze
through the dark window before her; two long legs and 2 more stood in her site. The old witch crow her wings did grow lifting her in the butterfly winds. Through the sticks she moved threading the needle as told in the stories of old.
The lions steps tread
planet to planet
align the path
clear to hear
There the winged creatures sing
inn the patch of oak and ash there they all went
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