Literature
THE RAVEN
On wings as black as the Night's maternal
bosom she flies, Moonlight of lactating
silver spills on her unconscious wings,
dewy and divining, her silent flight is a
liquid lapse in motion, those who follow
her path through the Great Mother's womb
know her loving touch, her generous heart,
her spirit wise with Magic and maternal
Messages, for this lady raven is the breath
of the Night's curious eaves, the strength
her children seek when the only healing
that will heal broken spirits comes from she.
Glossed by the flush of Night she soars,
a dark shadow against the Moon, as she
flies over my cool shivering brow I hear
the echo of