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A poem for Imbolc
Matholwch - Brythonic Tribal Polytheist Started conversation Feb 2, 2004
Bridey’s Song.
In the morning song I hear her,
Laughing by the water,
Every time she comes along,
She will sing a different song,
Which is why I’ve never caught her.
At the sunrise she is near me,
Whispering while I’m sleeping,
When I get out of my bed,
The poems have all fled,
Or strangely have no meaning.
Bridey, oh my Bridey!
Do you know what you do to me?
Thanks for all that you have said,
This golden fire in my head,
And for singing your song through me.
I am madden by her teasing,
Though I find it oh so pleasing,
I stumble and I break,
Throughout all the songs I make,
Yet her allure is unceasing.
Maybe one day she’ll reward me,
Near the end of this life’s journey,
Let me drink once from her grail,
Before my wit and reason fail,
And hear her song through clearly.
Bridey, oh my Bridey!
Do you know what you do to me?
Thanks for all that you have said,
The golden fire in my head,
And for singing your song through me.
Imbolc Blessings,
Matholwch /|\.
A poem for Imbolc
fleas_ Posted Feb 14, 2004
Yes. Do not give up. Mr. M. Your day job? I believe. We must each know our forte. And limits. Good luck to you. Mr. M.
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A poem for Imbolc
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