I’ve just found some of my old poems so I thought I would share them. Enjoy.
Swooping past, high, over head
Her darkened beak doth point the way
Her wings outstretched and there she’s lead
The Gods hold her hands, so she doth not stray
You see their fingers within her feathers
As they spray out at the ends
You never see the Gods though,
They have their own paths to mend.
The Crow is but a messenger
a helper for the wild lords
she tells us of the dangers
and helps us cross the fjords.
Over the roads blessed with water
Lies another land just out of reach
for this is where the faerie folk
watch, dance, sing and teach.
So over field, hill and barrow
The Crow doth fly so high
you’ll see her outstretched sprayed out wings
holding hands with the sky.