The twice-chapped bartop bears the weight of my forearm,
Luck it is that I eat less than before,
The cup stands proud midst the smoke and wood,
A fine vessel for the deepest wine,
A fuller heart for the company of companions - old and new,
The Bard and the Bird, the Bride?
She is the wind and the worry of the years,
Love, to save or damn,
Through greatest spyglass I see not the depth of her strife,
Few dare enter the cave of her histories,
Beneath his wings we ran through the Winter,
But this Summer has lost it's glow,
He has it too, the want and the wander,
Our lord of once and future,
She is the day, like the time in my lord's service,
First light of the world's wakening,
Am I to be the sky-ribbons that dance colours through the night?
Spirits pass us by, or are we spirits passing?
I drink from the cup of hope in their company,
The wine flows like the dream yet to come,
Take comfort in this time that leaves little to desire,
Still that which beckons stirs me on,
Might I dine at the table of our peace just yet?
"You are already seated".
