2017 07 02
The young woman with long red tangled hair
and eyes green as the rolling hills of Sgith
crouches low against the jagged gray stone
that juts at the black sky bleeding red rain,
and howls her wild song in the flashing mist
as the baby squirms from her flushing womb.
Cradling the new-born child to her full breast,
she hums weird melodies of wind and rain
and smiles, "I name you for your father Sgith,
for I am Sgatha, Queen of the Misty Isle."
Seven centuries later the young man
with brown hair like the wings of an oak raven
and eyes green as the rolling hills of Skith
slouches against the brick wall of a bar
and drinks beer while watching cars glide in rain.
"I am the wizard of Boston and I
write magic spells in rain that no one reads,
for their eyes are blinded by coins of money
that vanish from their hands though they grasp tight
to steal the rainbow of power over minds.
We are the great nation of Rocket Boys
for in one hundred years we rose from dirt
of farms we tended with our horse and wagon
to build cars, telephones, airplanes, and guns,
and now we dominate the spinning globe,
we who sprang from the Misty Isle of Sgith,
for we are the sons of God, son of Sgodin,
who rules the world with thunderbolt of Odin."
Three friends hanging out with him in the night
laugh and clap his shoulders with jaunty grins,
and Sean offers him a bottle of beer.
"Michael MacLeod, you crazy son of fools,
most of the time your talking makes no sense,
but you are my friend so I never care."
Then they all laugh and drink beer in the mist
while the moon gleams on both Boston and Skye
where Sgatha sings haunting tunes on wild hills.