By Liz Hartmann
It arrived by nighthawk, the final ingredient to heal or conceal the corruption that blasted Middle Earth.
“If believing makes it so, we have double-hope. We shall see, anon.” She gripped the blue button, and shuffled up the hill.
“First drop of rain, seed in the shell,
Night incantations will do us quite well.
Magical potion, dream-seeming mad,
I swear by this full moon, we shall be made glad.”
“Drop the blue button, in Cauldron’s bright spell,
Blood of the Medici, Machiavellian tell.
Goddess Compassion, hear this woman’s plea,
As we do pray it, so mote it be.”