Cloven hooves continue to dance around the fire at Walpurgis Night, as we keep at bay those phantom hounds which salivate with carnivorous intent.
I love your costume.
Can we hang sprigs of foliage or butter our bread in faith, as we converse into the dawn?
Let us also cook dairy products on this sacred altar as cattle walk around the flames of Bealltainn.
But please do not place a blindfold upon me nor mark me with coal, as I do not wish to enter the flames threefold.
I am alive.
I belong to the Northern Hemisphere where crops flourish in the name of fertility.