The Old Ways Poem by R K Summers

I sat upon the seashore
And inhaled deep the brine
My fingers flew across my harp
As I sang of love sublime

I looked out across the water
The fields of blue-green fire
Veined by snow-white foam and froth
And I whispered my desire

No man lays his claim to me
No boy owns my heart
No shepherd, goatherd, swineherd true
No blacksmith plays his part

My lover is the Ocean
I hear his thunderous roar
Devouring the grey, windswept strand
But bows down to the shore

My lover is the West Wind
With his haunting howl
A dragon to rage the nightly storms
A wolf out on the prowl

We belong to the Old Ways
Of faeries and elfin knights
Highland storms that bring the thunder
And many a wondrous sight

Our Ways have been forgotten
By holy friars and priests
But our blood runs hot with dragonfire
And we shall wake the beasts

My hands fly fierce across the harp
My heart pounds with delight
For with my harp, the Old Ways live
And rise once more this night