Dirty Little Secrets

here at the world’s northern shore
the winter winds blow,
rivers are frozen,
trees covered in snow,
and the sounds of an old woman’s moan,

the Cailleach on horseback goes riding
through the stars, and the dust
of ten thousand ages,
calling her husband,
calling through the realms, calling him home,

here among the fields of snow,
her pony of white,
hooves beating like drums,
in dusky moonlight
after the wild geese have flown,

telling men where the deer were grazing,
the Cailleach Bheara sings
the Song of Songs;
the old grandmother who ate the apples . . .
such a long time ago.

*Cailleach (pronounced “kahl-yuhkh”)

This entry was posted on Friday, December 10th, 2004 at 2:24 pm and is filed under 1.7 Such Is Life. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.