A Prophet and a Liar

Hi all,

I think I shall enroll in a project bigger than my tiny self. That is, interpret with my puny illustrating abilities some of my favorite verses:

The first one to receive this shameful treatement will be:

The Singing-Woman from the Wood's Edge
by the magnificent Edna St. Vincent Millay

I'll leave you with a bit of the text so you can relate...

What should I be but a prophet and a liar,
Whose mother was a leprechaun, whose father was a friar?
Teethed on a crucifix and cradled under water,
What should I be but the fiend’s god-daughter?

And who should be my playmates but the adder and the frog,
That was got beneath a furze-bush and born in a bog?
And what should be my singing, that was christened at an altar,
But Aves and Credos and Psalms out of the Psalter?