The spell

I made a
beautiful carving
Of you
That I placed
In an orchard

After one dark night
Filled with many angry arms
I woke up to find
A scarecrow in a field of stubble

What happened?
To my mind
Am I mad now?
Will wicked spells
Turn my thoughts into fires

Imagine hard
Breathe in deeply
As if giving birth
Push out
This dark forest of ashes
Down a pathway
To the sky
And leave them
For the storm clouds
To consume

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