Rendezvous.

[whitbypoet1]

The Druids from far off Ashkelon are waiting at my gate

To cast the runes by moonlights glow they patiently await,

Yggdrasil’s branches whisper in the corners of my heart

To join two worlds together in a sacred mystic start.



my drawbridge is protected by the Rowan trees of night

as I gaze out to the darkness and I search for mornings light,

the magic of old Ashkelon is useless in the day

the light of Alban Heruin will chase the dark away.



the druids soft hypnotic chant is drifting on the air

but my surrender will not come, before the Gods I swear,

for Gwawrwens magic kingdom, at dawns light is reborn

and evil will be vanquished with the golden sword of morn.



the shambling hordes of midnight black are baying at the sky

as the Dragon kings of Shervinor come swooping from on high,

I look down from my tower with a prayer upon my lips

at the king of mornings army in its shining silver ships.



The druid hordes were scattered to the winds of Cuchulainn

the dreaded hosts of Ashkelon would never come again,

from my shining castle turret flies the pennant of its Queen

with Gwawrwens gift we'll celebrate the golden morning scene.

[nimbusGLOW]

Thank You, "whitby ..."
for writing and sharing this
wondrous dream-like composition.

Your folklore within this piece,
and your theme-vision of how it
all unfolds, is surreal yet also
familiar, of myths/legends.

Returning to re-re-read it, is
quite revealing ... such are
the myriad colors in all of
its layers and "cloaks".