simonhlilly

Imbolc Eve

The barking of dogs.
Hills white as sheep, as arched, as silent.
God’s simple smile is the morning sun.

A full moon pregnant with light, last night,
And always the river and a promise of birdsong.

The red dogwood, the orange willow
All blameless and bright.

We shall see, it seems, another Spring
Lean by the fireside, thin in the frosted mornings.
Shivered water, vacant sky.

Day begins with dusk, a folding in of light.
Sheltered in byre and sleep.
A new breath in before a sigh and singing white.

Dry old pine cracks and roars.
We must wait a while for bones to warm.
Faces searched for, no longer seen,
Lost along the long stretched roads.

Thin is the light, pale as primrose.

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