It was while walking on the cliff path,
I first felt the kisses of the storm;
Blowing from the Westland,
The far off land, where I was born.
The waves below began to dance –
White flirting frocks, embracing sea;
While the seagulls swooped and dived above,
As if they had knew some hidden pathways,
Through the breeze.
I watched the armies gathered,
A frightening beauty, within a rage;
Clouds of black wild horsemen to the fore;
Beating shields of thunder –
Lighting flashes sound – “Attack!”
Howling winds defying war cries –
At all foes.
© (Löst Viking) (July 26th 2015) John Anthony Fingleton