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.
�
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