The Horned One in the Turning Sky

Beneath the moon's enchanted gleam,

Where ancient forests softly dream,

There walks great Herne with antlered crown,

The stars above, the roots below.

His hunting horn through silence calls,

And echoes ring through sacred halls;

The owl takes flight, the stag stands still,

The night itself obeys his will.

He is the pulse of leaf and thorn,

The death of dusk, the dawn reborn;

A keeper of the wild unseen,

The shadow cast where light has been.

Through wheeling stars and cosmic fire,

He tends the world's eternal pyre;

For every ending he has known

Becomes the seed of life once sown.

He rides upon the winter wind,

Where mortal years are left behind;

And in the circle's sacred dance

He guides the soul through change and chance.

O Herne, great hunter, dark and wise,

Whose antlers mirror branching skies,

Teach us the mystery you keep—

That death is but the forest's sleep.

When moon and sun their pathways blend,

And every road comes to its end,

Your horn shall sound through earth and sea,

And call all spirits home to Thee.

♀️♂️♾️🆕️🆓️🆒️https://www.dailymotion.com/video/xacawxs

\#ChatGPT #AiGeneration #Poetry 

@Meta @OpenAi 

EKLSR&FRIENDS 

The Ideas and "tone" of the Interactions with MLMs are of human Origin with the local host

Filling in The Blanks

Herne, the Lady's Lord