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The Tale of Imré


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The shadows drew longer than light,
And in the vastness they lingered,
And right came the birthing of life:
The Stag came and mingled,
In the empty night


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The Tale of Imré

Netzhal Kazimira Othaman

 

LigqY5deAqDJeWK3H7S8th62XnRGRon1ztzdKwZsZqCYqmj-ON5J8JxXEWt7dp_84MIaqNU_ZLMylMmQVI2Jf3wpiy_4qmrcVzQnEwxOimUZ4ByxmWRj_hu6Bg7QV3wLlRFD43rTzlbneRHTMzpIJkSZWrwfKhBs5_LsUgzakYofCzomGo2df9wwTw

 

Down the thicket isles,

 

The Orchards were in bloom.

 

Here and there among the trees,

 

A girl ran free with glee;

 

Her feet were bare and ruddy,

 

And on the earth they muddied;

 

And in amongst the boughs,

 

 She hid from Mother’s eyes.

 

Warm and white her dress shone;

 

A bit of white thistle darting. 

 

Then when shadows drew lengthy,

 

And the cold of winter grew,

 

That dress - a flickering light,

 

Brought witches and ghosts to brew.

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