Wild Edric, by Yvonne Aburrow
A glimpse of a shining fish
in the depths of a pool.
This fish cannot be caught with any net,
It is the the guardian.
A sword glimmers in Bomere Pool
Where the fish dwells.
A sword of power, wielded once
By Wild Edric.
By the sinuous folds of the hills,
He rode the midwinter storms,
An omen of war and a prophecy
of slaughter, seen at the transition.
Ever seeking the Norman foe
too late, and doomed to wander
by star-crazed paths
on webs of moonlight.
With hunting horn sounding in all the worlds,
He rode a white horse by night.
Lady Godda, pale and golden,
giver of good gifts, rode with him.
The silent terror of the dead -
An absence of light -
The hounds ever circling -
The stag at bay.