Brigit At the Forge

(Joanna Powell Colbert)


Mine is the magic of the forge
And the brewery.
My brass shoes I made myself.
And my bell of healing-
That I hammered also,
Golden like the sun,
Milky like the dandelion.
The first time keening split the air of Ireland
Was when I howled for my dead son,
His skin so white.
That was the first,
But not the last.
For me plant the spring wheat.
For me catch the new lamb.
For me greet the speckled snake.
For me stamp your beautiful feet.
For me ring the golden branch.
For me pour out milk, sweet milk.
I am the white swan,
Queen of them all.