Out from the mists of the morning,
Down from the hillock and vale,
The storyteller came wandering
Beneath the moon, waning pale.
Invited in, by the hearth she stood,
Revering the fires burning there
‘Oh Saint Bridgid, Grant me thy boon
To tell of your story,of thy mantle so fair.’
Taking inspiration from the burning fire,
Bequeathed by Brigid to poets born
She told of the fiery arrow
That pierced the sky when Brigid was born.
She told of the green mantle that Brigid wore
Wrapped ‘round a babe that he be not bare.
Tales she spun of histories old
And looked for a sign in the ashes there.
And said, 'Behold! There! See the ember
Burning brightly, with herbs and mint
Blessed be this home and family
Marked this day with clear swan print.’
As fires light the mountain meadows
Greeting the day with song and birth
We welcome all the signs of spring
Freshening now throughout the earth.