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art of the earth

When rose-petals rain
blood-red from the sky,
and the cries of birds are
heard from on high,
then shall your
destiny be made clear:
to build and heal
not rend or tear.

Mist follows thunder
howl follows wind~

the greymen are
coming!
Sound the drums
fill the flutes with the
air of your lungs...

may the wind beat at your back,
may the sun warm your head,
may the stars themselves

befriend you,
and may all the beasts accept you,

the blessing of the earth.



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