Oiche Bhealtaine
by John W Taylor
Have you ever stood in Wayland’s Wood, with the balefires burning bright,
As the old gods dance upon the wind, and sparks soar in the night?
Was the scent of Samhradh in the air on the eve of summer’s rise,
Rich with rowan and hawthorn flowers and life that never dies?
Could you hear the echo down the years of a druid’s distant prayer,
Or the hoofbeats of a horse that was Epona’s prancing mare?
Did the fairies of the May Day dawn fill their cups with morning dew,
And toast your health at Beltane’s feast in fields of meadow-rue?
No comments:
Post a Comment