Not of father, nor of mother
was my blood, was my body.
I was made from nine blossoms,
blossoms of the nettle, oak and thorn,
nine powers of nine flowers,
nine powers in me combined.
Long and white are my fingers
as the ninth wave of the sea.
I have played in Lloughor,
I have slept in purple,
my wreath is of red jewels.
I know so many songs,
my cassock is red all over
but I prophesy no evil.
A million of angels
stand on the point of my knife.
I am a wind on a deep lake,
I am a tear the Sun lets fall,
I am a hawk above the cliff,
I am a thorn beneath the nail,
I am a hill where poets walk,
I am a tide that drags to death.
Roses, Servants, Sisters,
Goddesses of falls and ruins,
Goddesses of the moon barely skimmed,
Goddesses of the dumb race
you don't have lost me yet.
