Yule At The Court Of Maeve Poem by Geraldine Moorkens Byrne

Yule at the court of Maeve



I left the city
and traveled through the plains
and found the forest
of Warriors, among the forts of the
kings.

The Warrior Queen, Maeve of the Sidhe
beloved of the Hunter and
favourite, blessed daughter of the Morrigan
greeted me.
I vowed never to return to
the corruption of the free.

I fished on the shores of the Atlantic;
I have prayed on the Mountain of
saints.
Late autumn now finds me dwelling
deep in the forest, with those
who escaped, like me.
I have no suits and no favours.
I walk in bare feet with the deer.

In the winter, I will pack my pelts
and furs, make me a gurney and load it.
I will pull it to the Court of the Tribes of the West.
I will unload it at the feet of Maeve
and beg her receive her daughter, and
I already know the pleasure I will see, in my mothers’ eyes.

I will pass Yule there and stay until
Imbolc.
No more will I measure time by the glossy calendar of man. I will await
the spring with a glad heart,
and then,
when the mountains shed their covers
and the green rushes re-appear,
I will gather my bow and my dagger
and once more, to the Hunt again.