deepundergroundpoetry.com
Hymn to Brigid
Ask her
where those wells touch sunlight;
where water kisses fragrant air
bursting with daisies, sweet honeysuckle
where she guides ink in heathen hands
pressed against warm sheets of paper,
word becoming thought,
thought becoming deed, and deed
becoming reason in humble retreat.
Ask her
where Celtic blood quakes in the eaves
of an oak-bound house, where children
gather around Mother’s milk, a fire roars,
part faith, part God in the arms
of the hopeless. She moves
dew-wet in morning’s breath,
a tongue of scarlet smouldering
with the ache of an ancient sun.
Ask her
how her eyes burn in the telling,
how her heart is home, beating
and alive in spring’s relentless call
trails of coltsfoot and celandine
gathering beneath coats of green.
How she is dandelion, and bee
in their greatest symphony, a dance
in the strange light of dreaming.
Published 3rd Apr 2024
Author's Note
Letters to the Old Ways
3/30
3/30
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