Patrick William Kavanagh (26/02/1957 / Dublin)
The Barn burned well I thought,
watching from my Eyrie in the trees,
Timbers cut by my own hand,
the hard-wood roofing tiles from many lands,
Lit the evening sky with quite a blaze.
The villagers just watching in a drunken daze
I sit and thank the gods for such a sign, and such a sight,
this eve of Beltane night.
Sweep away the old and and start anew.
There is so much yet to see, - so much to do.
I best be on my way, I think,
One foolish lout with way too much to drink
has fallen screaming right into the blazing fire,
A more traditional rite than even I desire,
But when the veils are thin, the Gods will have their way,
On Beltane day..
Summer is a blessed time to wander wild and free.
A coat, a staff, a sack is all I need.
The road ahead calls softly and the birds are singing in the trees.
The Goddess sings to me,
Her voice sounds clearly with the lark,
and whispers secrets through the quiet humming of the bees.
And She and I are one,
And I am Blessed.
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