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Untitled Poem

It is written in the ancient songs and the weaver spun the words that when the

Chough reclaims the land and the meridan's voice is heard the people of our forgotten tongue will gather on the shore and from the furtherest corner of the earth, the circle form once more.

 

They will girt the mighty Thamar as they did in ages past, and the waters shall be parted where Excallabar was cast and the land be torn asunder by a mighty unseen hand and there before his people, the once and future king will stand.

 

The heed ye all of Celtic heart, for the blood runs deep and true and the still small voice that rises loud when challenge faces you. For you will know the time is nigh and you'll know what to do for all of you whose kept the faith and held the hidden words will rise above the chaos as did Riannon's sacred birds.