Bastard Heir Poem by Andy Wood
Bastard Heir
Albion's bastard son
Of the thirteenth tribe,
Born to die
On the hoof
On the road.
At a crossroads
With the rose cross -
In his hands, the fourth nail.
Royal wine.
Bloodline.
Predetermined, composite
Spiralling infinite,
Like Absalom's twisted hair
In the oak branches.
Monday, July 16, 2007
Topic(s) of this poem: branches
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8/28/2026 8:39:35 PM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
