Maeve sets down her septor held high

stepping away from throne and shedding crown

Casting aside jewels and dowry

In exchange for shield, steed and saber

Defending her tribe high on moors and heath

side by side among her people stronger

Uprising from strife of kingdom’s coming

Gaelic tongue speaking warrior language

worn with honor badgering resistance

Familial flashings with fury confronting

fishy contexts webbing tartans clan’s colors

showing through strong though threadbare

Stone faced and cold

granite plows into peat bogs

as cattle feel at home among grass and clover

Digging deep no amount could sway her

into the hillside dotted with sheep

peeping as heaving roads

rising up to meet in passive fury

a battle has begun

The countryside awakens

haziness rises in billows from

paths beaten but n’er forgot a soothsayer

storytellers sounds off spinning tales

eavesdrop just beyond window pane

of thatch covered roof

Donning velvet green heavy

under moss and Shamrock

Ready to break ancient spell of a nearby isle

Herding dogs race against fence’s clearing

against fence’s clearing as warriors defend the line

Bramble swiftly

Drawing in the flock

With hook and sentiment

Their fur cloaked with intensity and instinct

Lifts in tufts stained with berries

from patch and thornwith berries from

 

Knots woven tight and true

tight and true, aye, the battle won

Hunters pull in stock and barrel

along the harbor at land’s end stock

finding peace once again

in the emerald kingdom

Preparing for the feast

of victorious proportion