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