Monday, 20 February 2012
I met a Willow Woman, who was baptised in a bog,
And she told me of the simple things and brushed aside the fog.
She told me why the sun was red and how the grass was green,
And of myriad invader thoughts behind two eyes unseen
She explained why kitten rabbits washed their faces in the dew
When the sun the skyline kissed at dawn, where fairy rushes grew.
I I asked her why the Banshee cries for people of a different kind
And where a stricken soul might search to find elusive peace of mind,
She told me “always tell the truth, and bury deep the lie”
And the reason behind treason, why the tear must wash the eye.
We spoke of blood and war and peace, and the need in everyman,
And of the haunting fiddle strings, that echo moods of short life’s span.
Then I asked the Willow Woman if she believed in love,
And she whispered “yes, it happens, always guided from above.
You’ll feel it in the earth, and you’ll glimpse it in the skies,
The magic words are carried with the heart and with the eyes”
She said “this love is very rare, and those who find it blessed,
They have splendour in their souls, never known to the rest”.
Then I lay with Willow Woman on a bed of reeds and moss,
And slept the sleep of conscience free and never once did toss.
I awoke and she had vanished by a hundred different ways
My life and limbs rekindled by heather-coloured rays.
Some day I’ll go back there to bracken heath and fog,
And be one with Willow Woman who was baptised in a bog.