He would be wearing Herne's horns
A mask,face covered,hard loins.
Priestess chose a man bearing Mars,
As she had chosen me by the stars.
He would need to be of the old line.
Magic in his blood,not from this time.
His chart,the zenith,Mars rises alone,
His climax tonight will cleanse and atone.
Drums,fires wine mixed with meads.
Sensual storms driving our needs.
Light footsteps of stealth,akin to war,
This night's work steeped in old lore.
Arousing in him intense yearning need,
Holding me tightly planting his seed.
I see in his eyes,truth is his gift,
A flicker in his sensing soul lift.
Fertile sweat soakedbodies,legs askew,
Tasting my scent building his fever anew.
Unseen angels will bring us new life.
A spirit so beauteous,bonny and blithe.
Herne's man on earth now will be gone,
During the night I"ll still feel him strong,
Languidly visiting between dusk and dawn.
I'll feel him close,wearing the horn,