something I remember every Samhain, from an old book I love 

On the day of the dead when the year too dies
Must the youngest open the oldest hills
Through the door of the birds, where the breeze breaks.
There fire shall fly from the raven boy,
And the silver eyes that see the wind
And the light shall have the harp of gold.

· · SubwayTooter · 0 · 0 · 6
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