In the land of Mac Nessa where epitaphs are written in blood, and nocturnal shadows flit freely in the cold moonlight, when the white hoar frost of winter’s breath blankets the big marsh, envelops the bracken and heather, coats the blackthorns in a slick sheen, clings to intricate webs as bejeweled wonders and the bleak, frozen bogs shiver and sleep,…
ContinueAdded by John Anthony Brennan on January 8, 2021 at 2:30pm — No Comments
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