Washer at the Ford
| Ríoghnach Locha Eachach |
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There's a lady whom I know
Hair as dark as the cawing crow Skin as pale as whitest snow Oh, my washer at the ford She is old but beautiful Tells me tales of knights and woe Washes armor, dented, cold Oh, my washer at the ford Plate mail wrought in white and gold Blazoned with a cross of old Similar to mine, I'm told Oh, my washer at the ford Battle comes on the morrow Scared, but I'll be fine, I know "I will see you soon," she swore Oh, my washer at the ford Something tugs at my mind's home Something I heard long ago Surely nonsense, for I know Oh, my washer at the ford |
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