NaPoWriMo 2016: Day 4

I’ve heard it told that in

The Old Country –

where the air is thick with the restless souls of the unjustly departed –

flowing through the veins of the people,

the blood of our ancestors passed down,

is the second sight and the seer gift.

The druid wields the sickle and stands, arms wide,

welcoming the waking sun.

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