Blessed Be
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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.
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2015
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