Death Omens
The water is slate grey, hard as steel,
Not a ripple, not a wave, disturbs its rest,
And as he watches the lake, the windows uncovered,
The swan on the shore has blood on her breast.
The Bean-Nighe is washing his linen,
And she weeps as she works on his blood stained clothes,
In the garden below the flowers are flourishing,
But all he can see is the black, frost scorched rose.
He dons his armour, checks his weapons,
On the table lies shards of his talisman cross,
The clock, long since stopped, chimes out midday hours,
And the owl in the tree speaks of her loss.
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