Sons Of The Horned God
Thunder rolling across the sky;
A bolt of lightening flashing by.
Drums beating deep in the night;
Fire on the hilltop burning bright.
In robes of black they file past;
Gather round and the circle is cast.
Owl flies across the moon on silent wings;
Off in the distance the lone wolf sings.
Quarters are called and the flames leap high;
Voices raised in chant to the midnight sky.
These men of great magick and mystery;
Sons of The Horned God, they are free.
Forever growing and learning all their days;
Following along the path of the old ways.
By: MoonRose Nightingale
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