Born yellow, orange and red I was
to this wooden limb
to this oak dweller
but in the sacred grove, wise as a tree,
silently walks our caretaker,
tending her duty
though between solstice and equinox, fall it now
was birthed in times of long ago.
Now my entire intention’s to purify
Kildare’s sentient beings worth protecting
from pestilence, vermin, and imps
that no individual petition
clever maliciousness manifested in darkness, each attack
unmade, undone – swathed in my embrace.
Wise one, revered Lady
of Imbolc we offer bannock and drink;
showered by your kindness
we raise goblets abundantly flowing with ewe’s milk:
Sweet sister, stay
not of weariness or hunger, but linger
lay in this bed; bless us, bless us.