Prophecy of change

The angel on the wind
Hugs me and my cup of coffee
Near the low Clif
On the high blue mountain.
Unfortunately, the White bull-
Once sturdy and brave
Now sits lazily
In the shade of an apple tree.
And he won't save me from this river.
Not Again.
I hear the giant swan approaching,
With his terrible yellow beak agape.
And I watch Chariots of fire
Roll west with the sun.
On a hill, hanging from a tree,
I see the father,
sacrificing himself again.
I can't be kept here,
I won't stay.
The old ones call me away,
And I whisper goodbye
Through a wind-chime.