In Raven form I circled high
the battle o’er
as in my blackbird’s piercing eye
the man of war
approached the raging river’s ford
that did divide
him from the use of his great sword
on t’other side
I fluttered down and took the shape
of ugly Hag
and in the water dipped my drape
and bloody rag
He gazed upon me with despair
there in the gloom
The Washer at the Ford stands there
the Witch of Doom
He hesitated for a beat
and met my eye
then crossed into the battle’s heat
and hue and cry
He bravely charged to meet his doom
upon the field
and swore atop the tallest cwm
he’d never yield
And when the final blow his heart
did cruelly stab
I came to him and played the part
of Maiden Mab
As a reward his eyes would see
in wondrous hue
the Beauty of the Trinity
in final view