Imbolc

As winter’s rage o’erwhelms the silent earth
a whiff of life, a whisper, is exhaled
beyond the grip of ice on rimy firths –
A herald of the death of sorrow’s Hel.
She strains and groans against the fading veil
for in the twilight glow the prime is birthed
between the knees of rolling mounds and vales
to usher in the realm of love and mirth.
He drops amidst the blushing waters’ flow,
she pulls him to her life-supporting chest:
upon the swollen bosom of her hills
He sucks and feeds, a helpless, squalling bairn.
As darkness ebbs, the swelling morning grows
upon the wholly crimson lamb and rose.

(featured image source)

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