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the full-moon mountain

Beneath the full-moon mountain,

in a meadow cleft between cliffs,

there pace her flower-petal feet.

A pale, dim path they trace, 

toward the full moon mountain.

There, on high, let her entrance us, 

for she is not blind

who follows her inner light.

Wherever she walks

with soft sureness of step,

all darkness abates.

Some say her saving grace

is what our world awaits.

Excerpt from my book in progress: "A Hymn to the Feminine"


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