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Grove of Hekatonchires;
is reaching heavenly high,
wooden bodies columnar
stretching out in season and
grasping at the azured,
an assuring curling grip on sky…

Fantailed limbs descend,
into their cragged lines,
frozen elfin hands now dropping,
arms, palms and fingers
are all encased in rime.

Briareus, Cottus, Gyges;
weather, earth and deep seas.
Yet still you hold her tightly,
a comfort from the fright
softly swaddled; oh cloudy night!

— The End —