The Woad

Another poem, just quick and simple

Hark! the ancient crow is nearing
Far below the blue eyes peering
Into the dark and amidst the gyre
In place where burns the absent fire

Hear that ebony bird's endless crying
Near those eyes who at him spying
See the fear, and desolation
Amongst the branches tessallation
There in the woad far below
The place by black, and mist and crow

And there the hunting dogs who crawling
Cannot hear their master's calling
And absently they lose their guise
In the woad's trickery and lies

There the hermit who is spying
On the lonely bird who's dying
And he hears its voice ever mourning
Takes its bleak sound into forlorning
Of the prophets heeded warning
Upon that with fire much adorning
On that faithful wrathful morning

And the beasts of shadow stalking
Near the place where the hermit walking
Came across the crow of nether
Who left no trace, no midnight feather
And who had fled far down the road
Passed out the wood, past out the woad...