Jem Farmer

The Carrion Cry....Arabian Sonnet

Tonight, the Queen of phantoms calls my name
As in a witch’s fire there burns her flame,
I look to the skies and answer her claim,
With Pagan heart that none shall dare to tame.
Her honour is mine born on raven’s wings,
The mantle of honour a warrior brings,
She is the promise a Celtic dream sings,
In life and death and all eternal things.
She is the maiden where beauty is shown
The maternal light that lets all be known
For hers is the wisdom of ancient Crone.
Here in the cry of the carrion bird
Hers is the echoed voice that can be heard
And now in darkness hear her guiding word.

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