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
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