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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!