The White Warrior

I first saw him standing on the shore

Staring out over the waves

The memories of a nation fill his gaze

And visions of the boats that come no more

And where I walk there is no mark upon the sand

Yet gleaming white and golden in the morning sun

I see him running through the glories of his time

He dances on the silver threads that shroud the field

And dwells among the shadows left behind

And carrying his brothers as a shining shield

He is the ancient legend, spirit of his kind

I feel a presence somewhere in the room

And feel a movement of the air

But when I turn my head there’s no-one there

Just firelight falling softly in the gloom

And there among the trees along the river

His mantle is the early morning mist

The water light, clean, like the blade once at his side

Dare I walk alone among the long shadows

Will I meet him face to face one day

Will he read my thoughts and see the treachery in my eyes?

I can’t bear that he should know how little we have learned.

Sometimes I think I see him smiling down at me,

Yet my trembling fingers touch the clouds

The White Warrior, the legend of fire and beauty

Still endures the mysteries of his life

And where I walk there is no mark upon the sand

Yet gleaming white and golden in the morning sun

I see him running through the glories of his time

He dances on the silver threads that shroud the field

And dwells among the shadows left behind

And carrying his brothers as a shining shield

He is the ancient legend, spirit of his kind