Posted by in My Travels, The Irish Rain

A quiet hold in her notes
Rises smoke soft
From earthen fairy mounds
And bogs and rivers
To raise our spirit.

She hides her red blaze
In mists on lakes
Of Partholon and Nemed,
In myths, the truths
Of druid and fine’,
In months, endless.

She is ever green
Beneath a brimming moon
Ablaze with life.
Field yellow, full of flower
I glow for her and grow
Under sky and stars
With a moon-night of love.

I thank Brighid
For her gift of love.
May she enjoy it through me,
As she has enjoined me with it.