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  • Michaela
    • May 1
    • 1 min read

Beltane

My basket is full, filled, flowering, A rooted spark blooming bright Amidst hawthorn blossoms White as a bridal veil And I wind about the tree Like ribbons 'round a pole Weaving life within my body And conjuring a soul Begun when I leapt the fire A fortnight past Imbolc Dazed by time swirling in spring skies And an ash moon waxing in the smoke Crowning me queen of May But why the cold? Why the cold?

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