In Praise of Brigid

 

A sacred flame is burning bright beneath the pure clear waters

This glory shine in twilight time sparks the stars to light

I am a drunkard, From Your cup

I am the wheat grown in Your field

I am the iron set aglow

My mind this flame, Your shining torch with wisdom set to blaze

A beacon to the winding roads Your ivory feet have blessed

I am a drunkard, From Your cup

I am the wheat grown in Your field

I am the iron set aglow

My tranquil body is the waters deep and royal blue

Swiftly run the silent currents through bone and stable earth

I am a drunkard, From Your cup

I am the wheat grown in Your field

I am the iron set aglow

From my trembling core, sprouts forth the Holy Oak

A bridge to span the quiet night between the sky and sea

I am a drunkard, From Your cup

I am the wheat grown in Your field

I am the iron set aglow

I am the sacred temple where Your golden throne resides

The total plan of many worlds laid out in flesh and skin

I am a drunkard, From Your cup

I am the wheat grown in Your field

I am the iron set aglow

Strike my soul, it shines white hot, Your hammer heartens me

Your hallowed forge, this place of craft, my sprit grows in strength

I am a drunkard, From Your cup

I am the wheat grown in Your field

I am the iron set aglow

Your quickened hands with healing touch the herb and then to skin

Draw forth the poison from the wound, the shadows into light

I am a drunkard, From Your cup

I am the wheat grown in Your field

I am the iron set aglow

       

                         - Chris Getz