A Tale of My Sisters

With nimble imploring Of a tale found quite pretentious, I found: My sisters, my comrades, Obtained skills some found offensive. They roamed the hills of Scotland, Burdened with hope enough for nations, And every time our Mother cried, Witnessed imprudent brutalization. Through lands both waste and riches, Continued on: A solemn pilgrimage; Armed with only incantations, And herbs: A witch's privilege. Morrigan has told my spirit What Brigid tried to say, Men without us are monsters, But their minds are such as clay. That is why we carry on Our nomadic occupation, Driven from villages as The Dragon dies, Though what we bring's salvation. I've seen my sisters burn on poles, Through lights: Theatre Magic, Everyone was awed indeed, My sisters' fates were tragic. So to ensure insure 'Twas not in vain, I set forth in expedition, To find the valley between the hills, That my sisters' lore has mentioned.