And now for something COMPLETELY different...

Inspired by tales of Morrigan, a Celtic deity who can trace her roots back to the megalithic cult of Mothers, I wanted to tell the other side of a ghoulish Scottish folk song called Twa Corbies (Two Ravens).  So here is Morrigan, having "thatched her nest when it grows bare-oh".  Death gives way to regeneration...

Below the pics you'll find both versions of Twa Corbies as a poem, along with a You-Tube video of the folk song.  The modern English one is more accessible, but the old one is the one sung.  

The Twa Corbies

As I was walking all alane,
I heard twa corbies makin a mane;
The tane unto the ither say,
"Whar sall we gang and dine the-day?"

"In ahint yon auld fail dyke,
I wot there lies a new slain knight;
And nane do ken that he lies there,
But his hawk, his hound an his lady fair."

"His hound is tae the huntin gane,
His hawk tae fetch the wild-fowl hame,
His lady's tain anither mate,
So we may mak oor dinner swate."

"Ye'll sit on his white hause-bane,
And I'll pike oot his bonny blue een;
Wi ae lock o his gowden hair
We'll theek oor nest whan it grows bare."

"Mony a one for him makes mane,
But nane sall ken whar he is gane;
Oer his white banes, whan they are bare,
The wind sall blaw for evermair." 

(Now in clear English...  :~)

The Two Ravens

As I was walking all alone,
I heard two ravens making moan;
The one unto the other did say,
"Where shall we go and dine today?"

"In behind that old turf wall,
I sense there lies a new slain knight;
And no-one knows that he lies there,
But his hawk, his hound and his lady fair."

"His hound is to the hunting gone,
His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl home,
His lady has taken another mate,
So we may make our dinner sweet."

"You will sit on his white neck-bone,
And I'll peck out his pretty blue eyes;
With one lock of his golden hair
We'll thatch our nest when it grows bare."

"Many a one for him is moaning,
But none will know where he is gone;
O'er his white bones, when they are bare,
The wind will blow for evermore."