Thursday, 1 November 2012

Samhain poem

Burial song

It is turning
It is changing
We are laying out the Harvest King.

I cross the river; the tide is high.
Lazy waters lick and cling
At the dark stone piers
And I think of you; you as you were
In the brief sunlight
In your bright days
In your life.
I have never loved
As I loved
When I loved
With each molecule alight
When your eyes touched me
And your hands beheld my skin.
I have never loved
As I loved you,
Star of my rising river,
Bright archer of sunlight,
Summer’s Harvest King.

You were the dancer at the maypole,
You were the Midsummer’s flames,
You were the corn, the silk and the honey,
The bee stings of Lughnasadh,
The autumn rains.
And there was none fairer in all the worlds,
None so brave, none so bright.
No arm stronger, no eye sweeter,
None more exciting in all the worlds of life.

It is turning
It is changing
Leaves stream from the sky.
Maple and thorn, buckeye and southern beech,
All fall and mingle in the dark day.
Black branches reach out and pray.
The bold geese flocked and ate
All summer, and swung
Calling through the air over our heads;
Now they walk soft, quiet
As mourners, slow as solemnity,
Grey upon grey, on the sand bank by the bridge
Where the river goes ceaselessly.

We are laying out the Harvest King,
And the silent geese are his cortege,
And the autumn leaves are his shining robe,
And yours are his beauty and his strength.
Lying still, gone to rest,
Drifting on the rising tide,
Sweet on the sweet earth’s breast.
The door stands open and welcomes you
To sleep.  You will renew.
It is turning, it is changing.
The night river rising.
And I have never loved
As I loved you.
You will renew.
Sleep in the winter’s embrace
And be made new.

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