farraige.
somewhere, deeply, i recall
the years, centuries past, when
on northern shores howled wind
unrelenting, through chiseled stone
earthen, moss, no warmth
no safety in small numbers,
turned inward along rough cliffs
spirits of wood, of rock, of sea
whose faces, forms, mingled with dappled light
through trees, shadows, sea foam rushing
what fear, looking to the sky
envisioning it alive, stalking panthers
rustling through stars in velvet heavens
as distant gods gaze down
and take no notice
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