The moon in shadow lay in solstice's midnight hour. Distant stars gave off dim light how feeble seemed their powers. Dark cloaked Druids skulked about, They moved from tree to tree gathering the mistletoe for their dread ceremony. Primal terror filled my veins, the blood borne juice of fear. What should happen to you and I if the Priests should find us here?
The solstice, a lunar eclipse and perhaps one drink too many. Not much of an excuse for verse, but perhaps as good as any!