Thirteen Sons Poem by Stuart Logan

In the victored mountains high,
Among the wild ashen oaks.
Three demon men plan evil deeds,
Under twilight cloaks.

The looming ocean crashes swift,
As the mist doth reach the storm.
The thunder hammers endlessly,
Far beyond an ungodly norm.

But a caring, wise old man, so free,
Meditates abyysal pyre.
Doth occur, he hears the plan,
That sets his rage to fire.

So the man does draw an arrow,
And aim it clear and true.
To embed thyself in a demon's eye,
Death reaches the other two.

Cut-short screams echo thy sea,
As the Devils only kin.
Find mortal death in an Elder branch,
Hoping the end of all such sin.

But in the strongest Ashen oaks,
Of which the Old man would never know.
Ten more of the deadly demon of Sin,
Shall let their vengeance flow.