poetry

Dream of Albion

An island sits in cold, cold seas, voices whispering all across it carrying far in the furious winds. Oh island, cease your mourning, winds, wail no more. Can’t you see? Those half-remembered stories are still in love with you. Their ages-old players roam still across the lands, forgotten Gods on Albion’s shores. One-eyed Woden wanders the moors; O… Continue reading Dream of Albion