WIZARD

Man of mana walketh by
creeping hills where satans lie
ridgelines spurnt up from dales
cross the sacred grounds he try;
those which border Wales

Arms of Craven ever near
her grasp forsaken all for fear
that which stalks him through the night
a warning spake of from the seer;
those whom have no sight

Sage of nature, south he stays
safe and far from our malaise
soothing greens of Shropshire fields
make heavenly the distant gaze;
those figures stain the hills

Castle of Stokesay lures him in
graves which bury only sin
secrets passed by one called James
eighteen miles from here 'til fin;
though severed from your names