This close, this close...

I deserve a reward.

And everything else on this subject may well need to be locked down, so as not to upset the innocent. For tis a real life issue, and needs real life diplomacy and care, neither of which are particular gifts of mine.

But yes, reward. What reward?

Glass of wine this evening; I should coco.

Passing of the Seer

They bathed the wild wood off my skin,
And combed my hair saying
'She'll prophesy no more, she'll sit
In the lemon scented sun under a tree.
Wanting for nothing.'

Then I let the blackbirds come
To eat berries out of my mouth
If the moon was nearby I shrugged
Untangling my hair from its horns
Saying nothing because
What's left to say?

Babies. A war.
Being in love.
The cruel gods.
And you yourself will sing
to me of your death.

To the Calling Realm
Not to bring something back
For the people have all
They need and know it
The hare lies down beside me
A man of the sea bids me sail
I am not even dreaming as
The dawn touches my feet.