The sun is setting now-- Pink, orange, red, yellow, A hint of violet. Streaked As the aftermath of fingers pulled randomly through a painter's palette. Night encroaches at the fringes of this glory, The luminous aura of the moon Replacing the last blazing remnants of the sun. To those who've passed this way before There is a lake In the center of a field. And in the center of the lake are trees whose bare limbs seem to be grasping, stretching arms, Reaching unto the sky. It has the appearance of the mythical Isle of Avalon. On the fringes of my lake Gallop two snow white horses, Their manes tossing Like cornsilk in an unforgiving wind. Look closely... See how they are running? As if they are mystically transported across the water-- Enchanted creatures. Close your eyes... Glowing golden horns become visible against the white of their sleek foreheads, and fairies guide their movements with gossamer reins.Birth sign: Not entered
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