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Bitty bitch of hex and heresy

Lathers oint of mandragora sickly

And the gleam of moon bathed white

Does drench the dame over Carrauntoohil

Rimed sward glimmers as she provides bitter broth

Three towering incubi wielding iron rods

Limp their bodies at her presence

“This infused only for you, Robert, son of Art

Sip from my spring a bitter brew”

Coiled at the pot they swallow

The fluid of unbaptized brains and milfoil

Covetous tongues then desire more drink

And clasp their lips ‘round her vulva

Deep-dyed union, unnatural embrace

Embodiment of lecherous spark

Moans of crystalline exhale, wet winter perversion