STORM

 

         SHE was young and alive and waiting.

         The walls of the valley

         Stood tall and bleak

         And the passes were high

         And blocked with snows

         Of Ten-Year Winter.

         The ashen sky whispered leaden words.

 

         HE was rich, noble, handsome and alone

         On south face crag

         Looking into the Eyes of Storm.

 

         THEIR sails broke the horizon

         Into a jagged line.

         A mist came off the sea,

         Rising to meet the scented snow.

 

         IT slithered froth

         A dozen eyes

         A writhing, twisting thing.

         Storm spoke with her Maiden's voice

            "Look to the Sea

            Young Knight of Thoth

            Behold your King --

            Enshrouded!"

 

         Storm slithered back into her cave

         Leaving her frightened maiden

         Shivering before the knight . . .

 

                                          3 June 76