Hands marked with effort-denoting gashes
Dawn men kneel before sacred ashes
Asking a dashing handsome sun for answers
Flints are dashed, asking sparks
Fire not yet mastered, all that will come after seems hyena laughter
Pinioned choirs sing Her hymns, heads inclined inquiringly.
At world’s remaking
A lake becoming a mirror
A glade replaces a midden
Past the formless glamour of damaging witching hours, casted solar spells
Draw the world with milked fire
Two mighty oaks quaking, like leaf-cloaked champions in quarrel
Before the combat trial of a rake no jury would pronounce innocent.
Alchemisland 
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