Sunday, 16 September 2012

A Fool at journeys end.

Upon the rough twisted edge of the abyss I stand.
Dawn breaks the change of man.
Beyond the reach of the beloved and upon the wings of destiny,
we Fly.
Head long, straight into the arms of Fate.
To stand upon that distant land,
To knock upon the castle doors.
Many rivers to cross,
many mountains to climb.
A road less travelled to a destination rarely seen.
That blessed isle, that perilous realm.

Pray be with me now,
for this holy fool does stand or fall at your will.
An Infant soul, to the arms of his mother goes.
I would beg you now to be kind,
to hold me in your love,
not brush me aside as autumn leaves to the wind,
Ash to this storm.
I am the clay to be shaped,
the sword in the stone.
Mould be, Temper me.
I am yours.

Until we meet again.
Flags, Flax and Fodder. Tony Macleod.

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