Black Bird
The Lord of prophecy and artistic word
Returning silent life to the war dead
Before he too, came to lose his own head
The cauldron-god with wings of a black bird.
For seven years foreseeing Harlech’s fate
And then four score and seven more in Gwales
In music, art and song he shared his many tales
That traversed time and space to where we wait.
Bran the Blessed keeps the enemy at bay
They dare not venture cross the channel sea
So we may live a life forever free
Through distant times we remember today
The Lord of prophecy and artistic word,
The cauldron-god with wings of a black bird.
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