Vines, leaves, roots of darkness, growing,
now you are uncurled and cover our eyes
with the edge of winter sky
leaning over us in icy stars.
Vines, leaves, roots of darkness, growing,
come with your seasons, your fullness, your end.
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Thank you, Ms. Finch, for your celebratory chant which has now become a candle in my family's annual yule log honoring the shadows.