Winter

winterIn the black season of deep winter
A storm of waves is roused
Along the expanse of the world.

Sad are the birds of every meadow-plain
Except the ravens that feed on crimson blood
At the clamour of harsh winter –

Rough, black, dark, smoky;
Dogs are vicious in cracking bones;

The iron pot is put on the fire
After the dark black day.

(old celtic poetry)

Advertisements

Author: Vixen

Tarotist, Celtic Reiki Master, Spiritual writer, OBOD druid Fractal artist, Webdesigner, Webdeveloper, Photography,