Céilidh Tale

Saragh, Mo aingeal. Copyright MΛΥΛ Garcia, Visual Artist.
Saragh, Mo aingeal.
Copyright MΛΥΛ Garcia, Visual Artist.

I saw this girl in a dream,

And I think she might have just been me.
She had a long shock of auburn
And a bonnie face
With eyes of coal
She spoke a foreign tongue
Of ancient origin
And carried a sword
Which rusted from misuse
Not of her own fair hand
But by that of a wicked betrayer.
Spells, notions and potions did she use as her warfare.
Ne’er a drop of blood was spilt at her behest
Nor a baby’s cries were heard.
No faerie queen or princess was she,
Save for her true love’s nomenclature.
She was a mere girl in a turbulent world
Raising an army
And causing trouble where ‘ere she went.
Wild, wise and free
The Celtic queen of Lisryan
Her manor a meadow
Her throne a crag
Her robe a kilt
With crowns of thistle and lavender to shine like jewels, beaded with morning dew.
Shine on, little troublemaker.
Shine on.

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