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…