White Magic of Druids - Embodiment ( poetry)


Hey well met, I am the embodiment,
most of all I am a traveler.
Numerous bags I carry on me,
in an each of them is something to see.
Wishes I give, an aspiration I fulfill,
intentions, inclinations, yearning, and will.
My hand never extends a gift to receive
but I am given before thinking to leave.
My voice is a hollow burrow, a battle horn,
steps I take are the thunder, ablaze and a storm.
Just next to you even if I walk,
I will be hidden for the way I talk.

Only a few, some doves and deus,
will ask me my real dub to say,
but I didn't take my name,
didn't take it into the world today.
Forever obliged with the mace of a strife
I pair up as fast as a cut of the knife,
And before the story triggers a one nerve,
I will laid-back take a swift left curve.

Hey well met, I am the embodiment,
most of all I am a traveler.
Endless charms I transfer around,
and each of them is magically inbound.
My house is a bridle roof of the winds,
with the hailing I come in a flick of the wings.
Even your pet, cat or a dog
will recon my semblance in thick of the fog.

White is snow, white as a soul,
twirl, dance, and fly, frolic, and flow,
flurry in hurry ahead of the way,
to you a couple to follow
forever to stay.
Fallen blunt on the rives, sieves and the maul,
what has been said now, never to end its hold.
Inside the same as the outside, this whiteness is shed,
in the tunnel, theater, square and a street bed.
On the fine glitter and though the flattering drapes,
I seek my children's credence, seven spirits of shapes.
White is snow, white as a soul,
fallen on the willow, dragon and a craw.
Within the heart, within the mind, within the soul, and within the scroll,
flurry in hurry ahead of the way,
to you a couple to follow
forever to stay.
What has been said now, never to end its hold,
white is snow, white as a soul,
cold, white, silent and playful be it steadily aye to fall.


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