Boudicca Poem by Maurice Rowlands

A storm cloud
Rises from Rome
A blood shroud
Envelops your home

The Roman, unclean
Your daughters
He rapes, unseen
He slaughters

Hold high your sword
Your army, your men
The blood of a thousand
Not two, not ten

Don't fear the storm
Don't fear the wild
Wrap yourself warm
It's just a little rain, child

When fear turns to fire
And fire to shale
By their funeral pyre
The bard sings your tale

Iceni warrior Queen
From Eve to Isolde
Across the vast ages
Your story is told