The brave like Hawk descends the road,
deep red his blood, wine potion brusque,
while hidden eyes observe in dusk
the rugged man measure and bode.
The hours pass, consent to darkness;
while stardom glows above his walk,
unmarried maids of long mane talk,
about his raw strength to egress.
The tavern's close at the dockside,
where pipers play a steady mode,
the fates weave his deathly abode,
in starry Halls the stalwart guide.
A drink is life, full glass of grog,
musicians render the pipes loud,
the dim stars blink and a low cloud,
covers the shore with shrouds of fog.
Monotonous the notes of pipers wield,
the sweat drops drop from their foreheads,
while Charon waits to spill the red,
- steel bull horn blade of fine Sheffield.
Outside he steps, inside the mist,
the maids weave, his life's spend thread,
Persephone will be his wed,
his bull horn Sheffield holds in fist.
© G.V.07-02-2012, All Rights Reserved