TheSilliestSod

They lay there together, Dervel and Niam, entwined in each other’s embrace. The touch of each others’ bare skin was like being engulfed in an ocean of warmth. They felt inseparable, not wanting this moment of union to end. Dervel lay his head on Niam’s shoulder, enraptured in the smell of her hair and of her skin. His coarse hand rested on the smoothness of her belly, swollen with child. Niam took his hand by the wrist and guided it to where she felt her womb stir. “There, feel that?” she crooned. “It kicks. They say that’s a sign that the babe is healthy.” Dervel’s hand lingered. This wa

The day is lost, the King is dead, The Saxon host has fled, And now they come, the Norman knights, To take King Harold’s head. Still they fought, a single band, King Harold’s guard did stand, They gathered ‘round their fallen lord, With sword and axe in hand. The day is done, the guard is dead, The Norman knights have bled, None forgot the price they paid, To take King Harold’s head.

Where now is her siren song, My heart is filled with longing, How can I stir my weary soul, Without the muse’s calling. The pages crumble, the ink is dry, The flame is slowly dying, Regret weighs heavy in my heart, As I mourn the poet’s parting.

Lightning streaks across the sky, And whips the waves to war, Urging on the battle lines, That dash upon the shore, The air is filled with wailing winds, And the ocean’s painful roar, I turn my head to bar the sight, Of that elemental war.