Staggards Poems | Examples

Coronach

Gather the crowberries for this windfeast.

Adorning our cheeks with ochre
                  we pile together
                  a throne of old rowan.

The staggards behind us;
                  warm breath at our napes.
                  We are as careful as a circle.

So a keening for the wild flightsman,
                  the hewer of stone, blood-iron hearted,
                  now dead as a distant star
                  that points the way of smoke, of fire.

But for a moment the wind resides.