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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Lady, weave Your circle tight With a web of living light Earth and Air and Fire and Water Bind us to you. MacDermot, the Prince of Coolavin came to Connachta a fair maiden to win, as the maypole rose a redhead proclaimed, that to marry him, her heart was aflame; so life comes again with a slow spin. The pole is lifted and she beribbons him; merry as their red and white ribbons crossed wedded like wefts in the weave of the Lord's skein. MacDermot the Prince was right chivalrous. How the town folk of Sligo laughed and danced each youthful suitor had bells on their shoes. Eight at a time the couples round pranced every Da's hoped his daughter to loose. But, Meg the red had a mind to seduce, and the Prince, well the Prince, was Goddess crossed. Meg's lips were wine and he had but those two; MacDermot the Prince was right chivalrous. White for the virgin each Goddess blessed red for the God of the green woods so old green ribbons the forest, gold's sun's tressed all twirl round the royal wreath topped Maypole. Blessed is the tree, with honors foretold as maids and masters their ribbons criss-crossed while the Prince MacDermot held Meg; they strolled. MacDermot the Prince was right chivalrous. The Rune Inguz was read, they blessed all holds and the grand green hills were bereft of frost for spring was here and their vows were told. MacDermot the Prince was right chivalrous.
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