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Rated: E · Poetry · Fantasy · #1245724
pagan ancient Gaelic festival celebrated April 30th/May 1st (Story Summarized Cont. entry)

At dawn our Maggie rose
To wash her face in dew,
Sprigs o' rowan in her hair,
Red ribbon-laced her leather shoon.

Cattle led out to the summer pastures
Graze placidly thru' the day,
While villagers, auld and young,
Hied to the woods agatherin' the May.

Yestreen all sang and danced
The fertile season in,
Bonfires lit frae the sacred woods
Burned bricht amidst the din.

Ma said the witches are abroad
On ilka Beltane eve.
Hush, wee Florrie, dinna greet,
Here, wipe yer nose upon yer sleeve.

Ma left ale and bread for the wee folk
We should come to nae hairm.
Hush there noo, wee Florrie,
Juist ye take my airm.

Our Maggie gang a'Maying
Wi' the aulder lads and lassies.
Airmfuls o' branches they will bring
Back to share wi' us bairnies.

Apple blossoms pink and white
They'll bring back frae the woods,
Rowan, hawthorn, maple, too,
If we be meek and gude.

A' back noo frae their fun and games,
A' pink and bricht o' een,
But where's our Maggie, someone asks,
What did Florrie see yestreen?

A tall, dark lad, strange and prood,
As braw as braw could be.
Bless us! Our Maggie gang lost her heart
to the King o' the Sidhe.

shoon: shoes
yestreen: yester evening
frae: from
bricht: bright
ilka: each/every
greet: weep
noo: now
bairnies: children
een: eyes
prood: proud
braw: handsome
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