I sing of the mighty Warrior
who blazes into battle wielding
the Razor-Edged blade
forged by deathless hands
in glorious Crescent shape.

More than one is fooled
by Her budding femaleness
the vanity of such a soldier
signs his death warrant there
under the lethal Crescent.

Each of Her blade's strikes
unleashes a bolt of crimson
if met instead by metal
a blinding blaze erupts
to mow down bodies ruthless.

The Great One leaps astride
a steed unlike no other
sometimes winged, sometimes horned
never by mortal mounts equaled
with the speed of a shooting star.

Upon the Warrior's skin
glisten countless glyphs
carved by art not human
tales of Her exploits and power
Her womb's might and Her arm's strength.

The sacred path She follows
in Her eternal wanderings
bears the form of a snake
scales tower as giant mountains
ridges hide fathomless abysses.

Her voice is both the thunder's roar
and the gentle whisper of a falling leaf.
Blessed are those to whom She speaks
and summons to Her nurturing bossom
for they shall live truly.

I sing of the mighty Warrior
of razor-edged Crescent
Her sacred blade healed me
Her sacred voice hailed me.

From the stupor of unawareness
with Her strike She released me
and bid me sing for Her
of the adventures I encounter as I wander
through this road that is a snake.

The Morrigan
by Cindy Aixmar Salgado