The Rook-Coat King

A blackbird told a carrion crow,

then a raven whispered to me;

‘The king will come in a coat of rooks

from across the Starlit Sea.

He’ll sail in a ship of cypress-wood,

with a cargo of ichorous tea.’

The raven carried darkly on

in a creaking, croaking, cackling song

smothered in malice and glee:

‘The king will burn all the knowledge in books

so that Albion cannot be.

There’ll be a plague and famine too,

and the wars will number three.’

The Raven flapped twice

with spavined wings

and flew to the poisoned tree.

I shot it through

with a flaming bolt

for the Rook-Coat King was me.