By Muninn’s Kiss (2012-09-03)
The Fire Moon, rises in the East,
The solar tongue, the summer heat,
She spreads her wings and rises fast,
Her forked tongue, her fiery wrath.
The Flower Moon is gone and spent,
Her gentle form, her lithe white hand,
In her place a fire rages,
Burning trees and scorching heat.
Beneath two donkeys braying loudly,
Sending giants running and heroes calling,
Crab claws snapping and forked tongues hissing,
A fire burning the forests bright.
She spears her wings and rises fast,
Her forked tongue, her fiery wrath,
It burned so brightly but fades so fast,
And leaves us wanting like the Fire Moon