The gathering is complete, the harvest home,
The rituals enacted; Faire is done.
The progress passes on.
A little while we linger in the afterglow
To savor Life
And Time, like fabric folding,
Stretching, raveling out --
As Then and Now begin to merge.
Sweet darkness comes; the players doff their masks
And shed their garments of degree and class.
Distinctions disappear with Faire day's light
And we are all but shadows moving in the night.
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