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Cold moonlight bathes the forest scene
The Court of Faere doth now convene
In wildest witchwood gathered there
To praise the fairest of the Faere.
Step lightly stranger in this place.
Show reverence.... an act of grace
Toward these ancient, sacred ways
Recorded in the book of days.
She who rules the hearts of Fae,
The Lords and Ladies, Tuatha De',
Stands astride the Web of Wyrd
She, whom even ancients feared,
She is La Belle Dame sans Merci
Queen and ruler of the Sidhe
Who does not suffer easily
Such mortal fools as we may be.
Some whisper that she has no soul,
Others say her soul is old.
Queen of War and Wolven Queen,
Queen of Poets, Queen of Dreams.
She can withhold or grant desires
With spells she weaves of eldritch fires,
Lightning storms and moonbeam's gleam.
She can make or break your dream.
Step not within the oaken round
But 'neath the Rowan's hallowed ground
In truth, your heart and soul relate,
Make your wish and seal your fate.
Angel with a devil's wiles,
Devil with an angel's smiles.
She is not judged, yet judges she
And, on a whim, she will decree....
...and as She wills
So mote it be.