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Ashlar Home > Poems > Shawn Eyer
> Raising


By Shawn Eyer

On Saint John Eve the Craft are keen
and lucid in the winter's cold,
As round about the altar stone
the signs are given as of old.

The ancient circle's silver turns
and heirophantic sights we see,
Golden the triple tapers burn
to light the eyes of Masons free.

Into the earth the light is cast,
one word, it becomes another.
And out of the dust is lifted
ep' pente our new-found Brother.
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