Root Deity Poems.

As all of an Owl in the Ivy I pause, am I late?

By the lichens and moss of the church wall

By its black Iron Gate.

Parting the living from path between graves

Where nettles stand tall gort flower wild grace

And felled is the Yew lay broken disgrace

As unkempt as I as I pass through the gate

Whose creak wakes the guardian utter of fate

As all of an Owl in the Ivy I’m late.