Poems ✍️

Celtic Love

And soon here thy thunder sing,
a heart print ne’re you feel or sow.
Thine daggers pierce beneath thy flesh,
shall bear the war note of thrice a king.

O my fair Alba Prince come forth,
I be not vexed nor be your foe.
My love wilt line in Albyn’s Hills,
whilst Celtic writers pen their woes.

O hear me, my silver headed prize.
Dance o’re the silken green so pale.

Cast not a spell nor capture a smile,
Unveil thy palinode and see thee rise.

Written by: Melvina Germain
Date: June 22/2013