Images from an image

IMG_1308

Is it a mace,
Of a faery race?
A wind-spun fruit,
From a dew-cooled root?
A spider’s lair,
Infused with air?
A low-hung cloud,
Become a shroud?
A morning lamp,
Dimming and damp?
A tendril’s twist,
Bedecked with mist?
That Amy framed,
As yet unnamed?

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