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Monday, June 3, 2013

Carole Lane - When the Great Mother of olde sits weaving her web...

CarWhen the Great Mother of olde sits weaving her web
And sighs and whispers my name
and the wind carries it forth upon the wings of a Raven
Do I not heed the song
When the Great Mother seethes in wrath
And I honour her not
Does she then weave the web in such a manner
That I am entrapped
A pawn in her web of magic
And the brook sings such a mournful song o'er rocks and green moss
O maid cries she, the Moon in me behind my veil darkens and bleeds
Droplets of bile
that you would dishonour me so
Moreover weave I though fated, a misshapen path?
Ha- it is of no behoof to pick up your skirts and scurry
For the entrapment has begun.

From The Hidden Parchment Chapter 20.
ole Lane - When the Great Mother of olde sits weaving her web...