The Lady of the Lake, the dark Viviane,
spake to the youthful priestess Morgaine:
"I wish you," she said, "to be swift, fleet, and fain
in making a gift for Arthur, Morgaine.
Excalibur needs a scabbard ingrained
with all the Power that you can obtain.
Make it a talisman bright and sublime
so that Arthur won't lose any blood from a slice.
Put into it your heart and devote all your time
to making it a sword's favorite place to lie."
So Morgaine went off to the tanner's nearby
and acquired fine leather made scarlet with dye.
All the while she held tight the Excalibur,
so that she might feel its power course through her.
At the weaver's she found string, blue as sapphires;
the strings colored with woad shone like blue fire.
With a vow of silence, setting down the unraped metal,
Morgaine starts working with her ivory needle.
As she slides the thread through and connects the soft leather
she prays silently to the goddess Ceridwen.
All day she fasts, drinking water during rests.
Water from the spring of the Moon Goddess.
From her swift fingers appears a full moon,
embroidered with thread made from silk cocoons.
The symbol of fertility, it gleams a bright blue
while Morgaine begins to create the new moon.
Next to this one dark circle, clear and blazing,
the three of the Druids, bright and gleaming.
She says, "It is finished," after seven days of working.
Seven days of prayer, of fingers cracked and bleeding.
A week of sweating, of weakness and of sewing;
a week of feeling famished, a week of steady working.
A vow of silence accompanied by fasting,
for a thing which she'd throw into a bog everlasting.
Lifting up the sword of the Holy Regalia,
she sheathes it in the scabbard with an expression of euphoria.
A power surge is felt as she gives the sword to Viviane.
"Well done," she whispers, "well done, my niece Morgaine."
About a month later, Arthur receives the Excalibur.
He says, "Thank you, wise Lady, and thank you my sister.
The noble Taliesin could not have done better.
I shall never renounce Avalon as the Excalibur-bearer.
Three cheers for Morgaine!" cried the fair-headed king:
the king whom only the Merlin could bring.
And as the crowd shouts this short priestess rises.
She stands, proud yet humble, and the clamor doubles.
With a crescent moon on her forehead, painted with woad,
Morgan le Fay smiles, having accomplished her goal.