#witch thing

A couplet and a quatrain from the poet laureate of my homeland:

My beard grows to my toes, I never wears no clothes. I wraps my hair around my bare And down the street I goes.

Finally, finally felt well dressed. Nature's clothes just fit me best.

When I'm too tired to keep my wall and my labyrinth is getting full I just give in. I step a little bit into the hedge. I let the world song crescendo all around my me. Sink into the mossy forest mould.

It isn't quite the done thing to rest in the lap of the ancient spirits in public.

But frankly if they don't want to run into a landvaettir in the Target then they don't need the fluorescents turned that high. Courtesy goes both ways.