Fiery BrigidPoet's muse, Dagda's fiery child;
Brigit's feast of Imbolc hastens nigh.
And in the stillness of the night a wild
And fiery happiness can grow bright and high.
The embers of hope of Spring will turn to blaze
Within our hearts, and longing for the whir
And gentle bustle of life in springtime days
Will give us joy as in the winter life will stir.
And is the lady of this day a Saint
Or Dagda's Threefold Daughter, smithing's friend?
Does it matter? Are not her wells of taint
Still free? So does it matter in the end?
And so is born again the fiery feast
Of Imbolc-time, a joy for folk and beast.
copyright E Glas Durboraw, February 1, 2002