Sunday, 19 April 2015

Oiche Bhealtaine



On Uisneach Hill, the bale-fires are alight,

and old gods dance upon the wind,

as sparks soar in the night.

The scent of springtime fills the air

on the eve of summer’s rise,

Rich with rowan and hawthorn flowers

and life that never dies.

You can hear the druid’s distant call,

resounding through the years,

that stirs the folk of hollow hills

as celebration nears,

and the fairies of the May Day dawn

charge their cups with morning dew,

to toast your health at Beltane’s feast

in fields of meadow-rue.



 




John Walter Taylor

© All rights reserved

19 April 2015, revised 30 June 2025

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