Hawk carries the Scroll from a far-off Realm,
and drops it by my side;
Perth seals the Scroll with magic Rhyme
that burns the Neophyte;
upon the Parchment, my Sight reveals
a pyrographic Word:
one last "Fare well" to prophetic Kin
from sacred Thunderbird.
Silver blade of moonlight,
carved in twilight sky -
Eveningstar beside thee,
Nighthawk on the fly...
Who can know the morrow
when less can know the dark?
Who can read the sigil
your blade leaves as its mark?
And in the Stillness - once - you call...
I hear your Song address the Halls
of ancient stone cathedral towers,
reflecting back their mystic powers.