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The Hazel Tree

With roots extending to the underworld
the hazel at the borders hides fairies,
and all creation is astir.
Unbounded and incomprehensible
this fountain beneath the hazel is still,
and when I think of that I go to seek
the turning gyre amid the gold leaves
flitting by with the passage of my dream.
I fell asleep beneath the hazel tree,
and in my waking saw faeries glinting
and dancing their tunes to the golden dawn.

© J.P.V.

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