‘Summer-strolling through the woods, a mile or two from home,
I found a ring around a tree of grisly Cloaksman-bones;
Splintered, snapped and brittle all, they’d known the slicing-squeeze,
And all the meat which clung to them he’d taken off for greed.’
A clay mask and makeshift cowl.
Copyright © by Richard Paul/Onisimith
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