The Thinning Veil

The frost-lit grass begins to fade,

The harvest home, the tables laid.

The wheel has turned, the summer dies,

As twilight steals across the skies.

The veil grows thin between the worlds,

As autumn smoke in silence curls.

The ancient ones are drawing near,

To walk beside us, fond and dear.

We light the hearth, we pour the wine, 🍷

And claim this sacred, liminal time.

For what is lost shall bloom again,

Blessed be this dark Samhain.