Witching Hour.

Harvest night, purple moon, under light of shadows rune. may fair sight, September moor, lit by shapes stay cast in awe. Light of shadows farce pretence, gone before the past frequents. Spring wood cleaning dusts the floor, birch wood sweeps across the floor. Out back rustle blows the leaves, reaps the wind amongst the trees. Darkest closets grieved the trance, under-lit why thoughts recant. Deeply modest to the core, echoes cast by shadows saw. Best be honest, best we start. Lest the words make truth depart. Tests enchantment, takes the court, after all the shadows sought. Best be studied, Wests accord, quests why harrowed fights resort. Echoes distant sounds refract, best be judged why thoughts react. Conceptions rising, takes the air, flights of magic, soon, “Beware”.