Someday you will want to know
and I might not be here,
so this is how you were made.
It was a soft night
near the back of June,
clear, for a change, no rain.
Old women were out
gathering healing herbs,
fennel, dog rose and rhu.
Bonfires burned on all seven hills,
drunken young men
leapt through the flames.
Down in the bogsthe fox
fire glowed,
will o' the wisps edged the meadows.
In our bed my wife laughed out loud
at the loving pleasure
of being a woman.
Like any man, I suppose,
I was proud,
and we fell to our sleep both smiling.
You were created
of passion and magic,
in Scotland, on Mid-Summer's Eve.
Here in the North,
that augers you special,
your mother and I believe.
No comments:
Post a Comment