Celtic Scream

Across the plane I saw his eyes on my plunder, my winter's prize:
From winter lands the wind did blow tracked summer dirt across the snow-
My Genevive she'd milk the throws of other gains I plundered.
I wondered how, that day I took her, his eyes might wander if he'd not mistook her-
For a golden treasure he'd horde instead while I be comforted with milk and bread-
But love is powerful, more so that greed
And so I took the reigns of my steed-
And rode towards his visage in the wheat.
Come at my love I challenge and entreat-
But ye will suckle only death's teat when I am down from the highlands.
And so I picked my scythe up quick and rode towards king and rode too quick-
To turn or think my brother's advance was no more than an outward glance-
Towards outer heaven's fluffy shell and I were to send him straight to hell
For he did not die battling well but rather in a muddy field.
My cows did shriek at the startled scream that lasted a minute for lack of means:
When I did send his head aloft to land at the foot of my humbled wife.
If there existed love before she did not show, for him, remorse.
She only showed a jilted glance that I had slain in cruelty of chance-
That the sun set softly behind her head and his gaze had met the sun instead
And for his life, I'd made him dead
In the field of my last day on earth.

I'd know the reaper later that night and she would show no Valkrie's might
But yet her softness was my light unto the heavens everlasting.