Poetry
1 min
“Song to Brigid”
Joseph Milosch
Song to Brigid,
Irish goddess of spring
After an all-night rain,
these Irish lakes are clear.
The trout are restless. they swim
near the shore and underneath
the shadows of the hooded crows.
The air is icy and clear.
After leaping for a fly,
a fish splashes, and under the water,
boulders take the shape
of a woman napping.
Driven by the arctic wind,
thunder clouds darken
over the farms in the far fields.
Lightning flashes, and
a small frog hops into the lake.
The land becomes quiet,
a chapel inside a church.
Are the lapping of waves
whispers of water fairies?
The muffled wind becomes
a creaking church door,
and the crows mumble their caws
as if they're not allowed
to speak their language.
Believe me when I say
that now rain falls into the lake
like pearls. Now Brigid
steps out heroic in her nakedness
and nobler than the sun.
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