Poem: the birth of Aonghus Og

Love is born when the rain
merges with the river,
the two planes meet, silver,
as birds and fish dart through.

Keep the secret from wells
that we don’t need them now,
that sky and stream provide
as snow edges to mud.

And then, the sun stands still.
So long it seems, so long
out of reach, veiled by cloud
and distance, a mirage.

And now she draws close, breathes
her blessing and her love
on the union of rain
and river, scattering

gifts of green on the banks.
Love is born with the squelch
of mud under boot-sole,
the red of the sumac

whose berries feed robins.
We still await the swans
but hear the blackbirds sing
wedding hymns from the reeds.

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About whitecatgrove

The musings of a Druid priestess, singer, poet and musician in Upstate New York.
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3 Responses to Poem: the birth of Aonghus Og

  1. Sean MacDhai says:

    That’s beautiful!

    Sean MacDhai http://about.me/seanmcdh

  2. Pingback: Aonghus Og: The One Choice of the Young | White Cat Grove

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