-- by Kirk S. Thomas
Arianrhod's child, we call You,
Though Your Mother knows You not.
Your birth, Her shame; Your life denied,
No solace could be bought.
But Gwidion, your Uncle true,
Refused this awful fate.
He tricked your Mother three full times
That Her foul curse deflate.
You tricked her as two shoemakers
And so you got your name.
Your magic war got You Your Arms
But made Her rage inflame!
She raged to You so clear.
But Gwidion to Math did go
And made a wife appear!
So come to us, our Lord so dear
And join us here tonight.
A wife You have, to join unto,
With pleasure and delight!