For My Sister

Guinevere’s Promise

You have born the wind of heavy seas
and you have danced a song of sorrow
For each day is the same, an empty cup
another wineskin of ash and regret

There is a voice upon the water
who mourns for Israel in her fetters
till she can run in strength again
a King’s mare among His peasants

And His decree rings a heavy gong
who is this, growing like the dawn?
That little seal burned on your heart
will soon be as an army with banners