I am the lady of the shallots.

I weave all that I see

From the darkened dimly mirror.

I know the curse on me.

I plant my onions early

And often and repose,

Hastening the day I look directly 

At Camelot.

Then will I write my name upon the boat

And die,

And ride the flowing tide right up to Camelot,

Where they will say, "What here?"

But Lancelot will know.

I will return as the goddess-ghost 

Of the shallots, yay, verily!

And poet bards will sing their hymns to me,

And then I'll be forever free of the curse,

Give up weaving eternally,

And dance peacefully among the shallots!

-jenn