Ezekiel Krahlin

Acrostic To Allan

Cool-weather Bird of Paradise, spread your
Orange wings of Kilkenny's Celtic dawn over my
Pallid fields of scorched flesh and charred bones.
Phoenix rising to your lips, I am
Eire's promise of the Emerald Eye
Resurrected from the fires of Christian wars.

Al, Christ of Ireland and Dragon of the Stone,
Never turn your back on the Little People.

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