The frozen sun, so soft unfurls,
As a fragile furnace spark,
Whispered at the dark of dawn,
Glowing gold at the Eastern Gates.
An arcing arrow pierces the sky,
Into the mind, Into the heart,
Into the spirit, Into the soul,
Bringing initiation and illumination.
The slouching shadows shudder,
The black beast crawls back into its cave,
Nights darkness avoiding the day,
Awaiting the dying dusk in its grave.
High as the shining stars, Horus the Hawk,
Spirit ascending from the shell,
With wings unfurled, triumphant,
Blessing the earth with sacred spells.
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