The Crescent moon shows through dense mist,
its faint illumination reveals The Bog; behold!
Iridescent glowing feigns paths through murk,
green-covered tops struggle through its aversion.
Choked of life, this abhorred place.
Wind blows through the branches of Willow tree,
crying out, whistling inquiry into the night, it shrieks
"Where will we begin?"
Its long switches clack together in anticipation
of the enduring darkness.
Beautiful maidens join clamoring hands
around a cauldron of nine wood.
Smoke rises from the fire, surrounding the area.
The Star is drawn, protection and power,
working to banish the bane of The Bog.
