The Celtic Sea

Awash comes now this gay sprite by the dark Celtic sea.
Wind songs climbing shear cliffs; sacred circles fill his dreams.
A thousand black ships come; ten thousand men now stand.
Crashing waves of their wake pillage his castles in the sand.

Righteous anger consumes; dreamscapes collapse under a bitters moon.
Pixies rebel against man and the nebulous god of the dark Celtic sea.

Curse rise in tiny chants, gnomes of latent fury swing spiked flails to chance.

Relief comes, respite escapes by the lady in mourning; her gentle reflections greet.

Safe harbors now rise and collide drawing the mighty Vikings to their knees.

Joy withstands, a multitude of little ones now dance merrily at man and his defeat.

J. Allen Wilson © 12-2007