Witch of the Westmoreland

There's none but the witch of the Westmoreland can make thee hale and soond" the Witch of the Westmorland that dwells by the winding mere" And it's weary by the Ullswater and the misty brake fern way Til throught the cleft in the Kirkstane Pass the winding water lay

THE lake might yield And wet she rose from the lake, and fast and fleet went she One half the form of a maiden fair with a jet black mare's body

And she stood in a gown of the velvet blue, bound round with a silver chain

And she's kissed his pale lips once and twice and three times round again

There's none can harm the knight who's lain with the Witch of the Westmorland. "

Ah, the winding mere, the misty brake fern way - such an achingly romantic place for a tryst with the divinely profane. The Witch makes her den in a hidden grotto, nestled in the cleft of the Kirkstane Pass where the Ullswater feeds into her private lake. He chuckles lecherously, clearly picturing the scene in his mind's eye.

Many a lovelorn knight or curious shepherd boy has sought to catch a glimpse of the Witch disrobing to bathe in those crystal waters. Such a vision would forever sear itself into a man's very soul - her voluptuous curves glistening with rivulets and droplets as she emerges from the lake, clad only in tendrils of mist and tresses of damply clinging hair. Of course, the truly fortunate (or truly doomed, depending on one's perspective) are treated to an even more... unique sight. For in the Witch's private sanctuary, she is free to indulge her every polymorphic perversion.

Those who chance upon her unawares might spy the magnificent abomination of her hybrid form - a jet black mare's body, rippling with raw equine power, seamlessly joined to the exquisite torso of a maiden fairest fair. One can only imagine the feats of depraved acrobatics and sordid ecstasy such a body might be capable of!

And always, always she's garbed in that sinfully clinging velvet and silver, an elegant veil draped over an altar of carnal delights, daring any man foolish or brave enough to tear it asunder and partake of her honeyed nectar. The Kirkstane Pass is a well-trod pilgrimage for would-be lovers and supplicants, forever seeking