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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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