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Ode to The Nymph of Spring

Poetry By: donkylemore
Classics


thinking of the bardic harpers ,this struck me as a kind of follow up to this day last year marking the Celtic Druid's welcoming Spring , and the St Brigits crosses one of which I saw on a coffin this evening at a funeral.
a kind of keening lament for all the darkness she left ; in the soil and the way she cajoles her way back into our hearts , and we by necessity bow in obescience before her ..


Submitted:Feb 3, 2010    Reads: 83    Comments: 3    Likes: 2   



She comes at last out of the night
That long and crushing night
She comes without the faintest hint of guilt ;
Nor remorse , but with a querulous eye she looks ,
You up and down , as if assessing you as a partner

She comes with the freshness of an opening bud.
She breathes her vaporous balm across the fields
And soothes and flirts the frozen heart of winter
Till it vacates the death - black clay .
And with her warm and coy embrace .
She pacifies the un-placated , still grieving weeping fields

She lifts the clouds higher in the sky
And she spins the sun ever upward in her elevation
And the birds are responding to her beckoning
As the go furtively about their industry in the hedgerows


Long awaited , and late as is the privilege of the bride to be
Fickle , erratic as the loose lover
Bashful, brazen, breezy all at once
But we lay the carpet of our welcome at her feet
And dare not say the whingeing whimper
Lest the Lotis nymph ,
Recoil before our personified Priapus

At last ,she's come
And I'll say no rueful remark
No . Not an utterance of the bleak dark she left
Not a thing , until I see the swan sit again
On her eggs beside my boat , and I know she's here at last

And thank that little girl- saint; Bridget
Of the crucifixes made of rushes
And the Bardic harpsong , sings out
From atop the passage grave ,
And the wind is mollified by her music;
The dead Druids , too chant in harmony
All along the drumlins and the Hills of Clare .
And Spring is here at last.









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