Samhain

(pronounced “sow-een”)

Can wayward love e’er know the fail of time,
In levels of a night of Death’s cold smiles -
The witches’ brew of ravens’ blood and rhyme?

In palest blizzard waste of nightmares’ twine,
In fire light’s catch of ancient pitch and bile,
Can wayward love e’er know the fail of time?

Like curve of claws from poet’s words refined,
The phases, like the pleas of sirens’ rile,
The witches’ brew of ravens’ blood and rhyme.

So silently betrayed in “Samhain’s” ‘cline,
The horns that beg her last night's wet beguile.
Can wayward love e’er know the fail of time?

How delicate her lips that flow sublime,
In taste of honey, hope, and life’s revile -
The witches’ brew of ravens’ blood and rhyme.

Diaphanous as winter’s deathly shine,
She lays to rest in frozen moon’s defile,
Can wayward love e’er know the fail of time?
The witches’ brew of ravens’ blood and rhyme?