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WIZZARD'S POTION
When a dusk sun frets, black birds linger
In winters woods, blood bats hang around
On creaking boughs, cradled by misty ground
The ancient wizzard points a shaking finger
And summons forth the fatal black harbinger,
Of death then renewal of the mighty crown
To slumber; the iron fisted tyrannical town
So a lullaby the good north winds will sing her
Unto the kingdom, a turbulent ocean
Christ clouds of good omen, there shall release
Gentle rainfall of the wizzards wise potion
Of good fortune, prosperity, wisdom and peace
Whenst the kingdom is cleansed by birth of a crown
Quaint nymph and forest joy shall resound. |
