Her beauty eclipses the southern sun
Her grace exceeds the Vale’s heights
When the stars emerge – as the night comes
Her eyes, they shine at least as bright
Oh Fortune! You have made us one!
Do I have the warrior or crone to thank?
It feels that any-thing now can be done.
From six feet up upon her flank
Fur and plate and hoof and lance
She’s flies just like a northern gale
Our enemies all poop their pants
Victory…. comes without fail
I’ll always share the spoils, of course
Oh Mirage, my loyal horse
Recited at the Opening of the Bardic College in April of 288 AC