Because today is Imbolc and because the Earthweal prompt mentions it, here’s another poem for Brigid.
Painting by Evelyn de Morgan.
The swelling of the year
The rising of the first milk is come again
to the full bellies of the ewes,
and the rising of spring water into rushing rills.
Will we light the fire to burst the buds and melt the snow?
Will we pick the first snowdrops in the hollows
where Brigid’s feet have trod?
Listen to the church bell ring,
bronze and thin, it calls in the wind,
but some hear an older song.
The gull swallows its lament, easy as a silver mackerel,
while in the hollows of Brigid’s fiery tread,
white bells rise and nod, unstilled.