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© 2000 by Ezekiel J. Krahlin

In a chilly climate
Deep 'neath a ring of famous ruins
Rests the Covenantal Ark,
Till the Day it hatches from the Egg of 
The Dragon of Gwynyd Cavern,
On Saint Nick's Day.

The 13th Tribe of Israel, the Lost Ones,
Clan of Elves: Rulers of the Realm of Wonder,
Entered the Tabernacle of the Ark,
And tore the veil asunder
With their sacrificial knife:

The Elfin Broadsword, cut from polished agate,
No longer than inches 3, no broader than 1/2,
With a nubby handle of furnaced clay
(Bright green with streaks of gold and brown)
Now rests over my heart, from macrame
That around my neck is bound.

Oh what a blessing to receive
Such a magic gift on Equinox Eve,
Which only among these 13 tribes
Never touched but plums & berries
As blood for the Sacrifice.

Oh Blessed be 
For eternity!