Air in my lungs, once alive, now just woe,
This dull life drains, a grey sunset greets me,
Betwixt the oaks, ring o’ mushrooms aglow,
It’s beckoning me near, no time to flee,
I swear, I can feel the Spanish moss’s stares,
Leaves curled like a beard, glowing eyes appear;
“Would you like to leave?”, a deep voice declares,
Guarding the fairy ring, his face brings fear,
“Don’t panic, mortal. ‘Tis I,...
