In the belly
In the bag
Behold The hungry ewes
are gasping
Tiny bodies
Wanting of their dues
The hot and creamy liquid
That nurtures and that builds
Brigid patroness of flocks
That frequents the green fields
Motherhood and smithing
Not forgetting poetry
The “lady of the iales”
A “nursemaid to the sick”
She be
A venerated true saint
Revered by druidry
Her girdle heales diseases
Each ovate clearly brings
From the triple goddess
Of healing wells and springs
The Oyster catcher cometh
Giving guidance to
Boam her mother constant
As cow goddess of the white moon
knew what she had to do
And the cows from time immorial
Became sacred everyone
The midpoint
of the dark half year
Hopeful that the sun
Is on its bout of warming
Where other streams now flow
Within the earth the sod itself
Where bulbs and seeds will grow
The light is coming back again
The worms move from their place
The moles run along tunnels
Their heaps now form a base
Around the eternal standing stones
The cockels let them be
Blessings on the sacred forge
Where candles constantly
Flicker burn and heat the air
The oxygen of light
Here we all descend into the caves
The iron ore night
Ahead of us the forest
And the river burning bright
Our ritual clad in splendour
The ancestral shadows be
With us for the order is the
True fraternity.