I spoke my simple tongue
fresh to the air, in a lilt
that sweeps the harvested fields
up to the mountain of being
where wind to earth embrace and love
In the dialog of the Soul.
This Raven flew deep and full
upon my thoughts, between my dreams
her squawk filled to the depth of me
wallowing in her song of life
I transfixed to the long strands
these flaxen wings of her form
danced the slow embraced twirl
that drew within and held us both so tight
Into the twilight's beam.
Her complexion fills me like the moon
and haunting figure that draws my loins
fills my heart to the longing beat
That thrives where ever she roams.
her words like the butterfly
embraces so much of my own
that I cease to be other than what she is
for my eyes behold her craft, her form
that bewitched my soul and haunts my mind
This woman, this Raven that calls
From high in the Kentucky peaks.


Alisdaire O'Caoimph