I am Feannóg,
little flayer of flesh.
I groom a feathered coat of grey
and wear an ink-dark hood.
My badge is the red-steeped beak.
My eyes are funeral black.
They see the killing,
the spill of bloodlust,
the gore-strewn sand.
They see endless plenty.
The battle feast.
And it is time to feed,
while the warrior-hosts rearm.
John Walter Taylor
© All rights reserved
17 January 2026
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