The scent of blue perfume fills the air,
of goddess muse with cascading hair
when she leaves her world beneath the lake
and whispers words as the Bards bewake,
the spirit of the Eisteddfod fair.
Her stirring pot bubbles creative flair,
to tell ancient tales with Bardic care
our craft, long held dear, cannot forsake
the scent of blue perfume.
In second sight our future declare,
in lyrical verse she shows us where
our dreams meet the art of a moonquake
as we dance and sing at Merrymake
and from the depths of the Annfwn lair
the scent of blue perfume.
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maralisa
