My Queen…
My Celtic Queen, she does return
a horse of white, its mane in flight
the wind picks up her flame red hair
She looks for family lost in the fight
Her crown lies broken, her spirit bright
She means to mend the wrong
that Rome had done.
The cold grey mist hides all from sight
She goes by the sound of horse’s battle
clashing swords
Battle ready she fights once more
to find her crown still broken as before…
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