The Raven Prince
The wind blew. On the wooden cross landed a raven.
I scattered daisies on the lonely tomb.
The bird grew into a winged man,
he turned to me and said he was a prince.
He pledged his deathless love with his golden ring.
On his black wings we flew to his castle
Up in the mountains to his nest-castle.
I marveled at the winged prince-raven.
On my finger shone bright his golden ring.
From afar I watched the human tomb
and asked how a raven could be a prince.
He said my piety turned him back into a man.
Since I had buried the skeleton of a man,
his spirit could but soar with me to his castle
where I was deemed fit company for its prince.
Soon night would fall. Once more he would be raven
-- a curse had decreed so -- and fly yonder to his tomb;
In that sad hour, I took off his ring:
I didn't want to be a prisoner with a golden ring.
At that, the raven gave a hoarse cry, like a man.
He flew and perched on the cross, on his tomb.
Alone, I beheld the forlorn scene from the castle.
When I left, I heard the croaking raven
say goodbye. This is how I met the raven prince.
On a windy island there was once a raven prince
who gave me his deathless love with a golden ring.
He came back from hell in the shape of a raven
and hoped my love would turn him back into a man.
His black wings had served him well on the top of the castle.
Tears rose to his black eyes, as I marched past his tomb.
Truth be told, I lingered a while near his tomb.
I smiled and said goodbye to the winged prince
and prayed for his lonely fate below the stone castle.
I looked back one more time. In his beak he held the ring.
In the bay, I sat in the barge, but couldn't forget the winged man.
The wind carried a black feather across the lake: the last gift of the raven.
I cried my last tears on his tomb, as he held out his golden ring,
the lovely winged prince who dreamed to be a man,
his forlorn castle, a nest for the dreams of an enchanted raven.
Picture by courtesy of Tom Swinnen via pexels.com