Wings Of Death Poem by Jerome Brooke

In the sea by Mataran, land of rubies and silver,
Lay the fleet in the sea.
Over the waves from the west, near Samare,
Sailed the ships of our lady.

Her dark eyes saw the prey, her claws,
Fleet and sharp, reached out;
Her sword of bronze, shone in the sun,
High was our shout.

Where are the ships, ships of the South,
Swift birds of prey?
Scattered, lost are the dark ships of dawn,
Burning, this day.