Ogham Poem: Sail, the Willow

Your long hair swinging, you sway over

the mere to peer in its murky depths,

the bees singing the song of your name

O salce, salce, salce, O —

 

and the branches underneath the dun

forge the faces of the dead, beloved

and gone, humming with the bees their song

O salce, salce, salce, O —

 

Music is the delight of the dead.

Fleshless skulls sing from under the skree

send tendrils to the waters below

O salce, salce, salce, O —

 

The heavy scent of your garlands mask

the compost of misplaced desires, sins

and crimes. Even maggots make their place

O salce, salce, salce, O —

 

Make a garland of your hair, a harp

strung of its gold that tells always truth

the muddy pond steals back from the sky

O salce, salce, salce, O —

 

Garland dead lovers and living seers —

The moon pulling the tide to ebb

unveiling the dead under the foam

O salce, salce, salce, O —

 

Nine times nine, a chorus of witches

hums with the bees and the mighty dead

under that ghost light, that lamp of time

O salce, salce, salce, O —

 

Let your voice rise with the time and tide,

rush like waters under the tree,

lave the unclean, unshroud the hidden

O salce, salce, salce, O —

 

Your long hair swinging over the hole

that mirrors the sky, you sing with the bees

“Music is the delight of the dead”

O salce, salce, salce, O —

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About whitecatgrove

The musings of a Druid priestess, singer, poet and musician in Upstate New York.
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