Harden your resolve.
Become Angels in the night, Demons in the light,
Harbingers of Glory's sight,
Wraiths of Oblivion's plight,
Shades in pale moonlight.
It rests in Grotto of Druid's Shade,
wraith shroud of a father long dead surround.
Awakening in stark beams,
its dreams of fire and death enshroud.
The Speckled One walks, finding man traveling in his realm.
Following tracks, crossing mighty Oak's path,
full of pause, beseeching Oak, answers granted.
Hand upon bark; cold, coarse, weather worn and rough,
crumbling leaves tell of Winter's coming.
He must brace himself, season's change upon the land,
northly winds pull him southward.
Ceasing the man-following he gathers honey and herb.
A time for fattening, a time for snow covered rest till the thaw,
he returns to Druid's Shade.
Parting the moss hanging over the hallowed home,
down he goes between winding
roots that still hold strong. The ashen tree remains from the time
before memory. Motes dance, ensnared in low beams that cut across
his down pine resting place.
Dreams of cleansing fire, abhorrent and unnatural change.
Grasshopper becomes Butterfly. Molt becomes corrupted rot.
The predawn air catches dark visions as he awakens in his own dew.
His father again traces his mind. His near grave holds answers;
it yet may illuminate these dark omens.
Walking past shadowed glens, nearing man’s settlement,
before the river border he finds his father's rest in sullen gully.
Hands plunge, beseeching the soil,
visions roil before his eyes.
The sun hangs only in mind, truly night's fall wakens him.
His Father, full of rage,
parted a terrible charge upon the Speckled brow.
Man must be purged with cleansing fire.
Man must be usurped with blighted green.
Slowly, wearily, he finds his way toward Druid's Shade.
The night wanes on, the moon found low and guiding.