Goddesses of Midnight and Fog--
do not hide me from the God of
Bardship, but let him see me
in my robes of blue and goldenrod,
anxious for words to fete the ever-
turning of the universe, a turning from
dishonesty and indifference, the
time is ripe, indeed, for those syllables
to drop from the boughs of the tree-branches
like fruit into my lap, bruised and
sweet, to feed upon before I journey into
the next world to seek advice from the ancients
protect me from your brothers,
that Trickster and the Vengeful one--
make sure my steps, and fill
my mouth with words for recitation
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