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                                                THE MOONPOOL 
                It is a lazy, restful time 
                 here in the forest glade. 
                The sun is departing, the stars arriving 
                 and the trees are a darkening jade. 
                An air of buzzing, drowsing stillness 
                 invades the meadow, lends weight to my head 
                as I settle down - bedroll, backpack 
                 and strains of music are seemingly played. 
                A deep, cool, dark pool is here, 
                 mirror clear, reflections of skies, 
                as peace fills my mind, my soul 
                 and sleep gently touches my eyes. 
                I know not whether I was awake, or in dream 
                 or how much time had passed, 
                when I felt the magic of this place 
                 camped there, upon the grass. 
                No sounds - no crickets? (The Music!) 
                 As the Moon awakens the pool, so bright. 
                Why this anticipation, premonition, 
                 this magical feeling, this ghost haunted night? 
                Then, a siamese cat enters the meadow- 
                 silver grey, regal compusure, flowing lines. 
                And somehow I know - I see intelligence 
                 and wit, and power, as she looks into my eyes. 
                How does she speak without speaking? 
                 But somehow, she communicates good will, and cheer. 
               'Stay quiet, childe of man.', she says. 
                'Be still - you are but a guest here.' 

               Then a parade of feline musicians 
                 wandered in singing from the right. 
                I shake my head *bedazzled*; Am I dreaming, or mad? 
                 Why me - here to witness this eldritch sight? 

                                     THE MOONPOOL  (cont.)
                A troupe of dancing, cavorting gnomes 
                 made their appearence upon a rocky stage. 
                And following them : silver clad, haughty elves 
                 accompanied by a wizened old mage. 

                Now, many strange but noble presences made manifest 
                 on that starlit night in June. 
                And I witnessed and heard sweet music, high magic, secrets 
                 until dawn, with the passing of the Moon. 
                And the high bred Queen of Cat Folk 
                 smiled with warmth, and left. 
                Left me shaking with these visions, 
                 and nodding, I finally slept. 
                I return often to these stately woods, seeking 
                 but never finding the sacred pool, so bright. 
                It makes me sad - very sad to think 
                 that it was but a dream, a peculiar night. 
                But sometimes, at the edge of sleep, 
                 soft music slowly beckons, and calls. 
                And I know with every fiber of my being 
                 that I will again visit these magical sylvan halls 

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