Womb Separated Brother
Cape of the hoot owl lays across his shoulders,
He blew in on the wings of the mystical North Wind.
We stand stoically at our Scottish ancestral boulders,
As our majesty searches for his missing birthright twin.
Understanding this king has eagle-like magical power,
I answer his consort’s questions briefly, one way or another.
Some flee for the woods at the eleventh hour.
I stand my ground, recognizing my womb separated brother.
He turns and glances into my eye but one brief glimmer bit.
I quickly look away, not wanting my life to change in the least.
They leave us to our butterflies and faeries that flitter and flit.
I begin to think his reputation is wrong, he is not bad beast.
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