H.M.
MYSTI
A shadowy shape of cloud and mist, of gloom and dusk, she stands,
The Washer of the Ford;
She laughs, at times, and strews the dust through the hollow of her hands.
She counts the sins of all men there, and slays the red-stained horde---
The ghosts of all the sins of men must know the whirling sword
of the Washer of the Ford.
The Washer of the Ford,
William Sharp
Give blood to Mysti at: Aerix' Poetry