By Peter Nash
Red Streaks, split the clouds asunder
Mirroring the embers of a glowing Belfire
The sweet scent of the hawthorn
Mingles with the bonfire smoke
Stirring my mind and my spirit
The celebrations over; the old gods departed
Merriment under orange-hued heavens
The first omens of summer
Deep satisfaction waxes with the rising sun
Love pulses in the pale light of morning.
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