On Sunday 8th February we celebrated Imbolc at Box Hill and here is my poetic take on it – with much licence:
An Imbolc Romance
In Modern Times there were three knights
Upright, handsome, sturdy wights
And they yclepèd were Sir Trui,
Sir Andrew and Sir Gregory
And into the woodland they did go
To seek out where the snowdrops grow
One Imbolc time in Februar
Riding out from lands afar
To kneel before the Goddess bright
In hope of Spring’s returning light.
There met they comely damsels four
All come the Goddess to adore,
All dressed in gowns and cloaks of green
Right fit and comely to be seen.
“Come with us”, cried Greg the bold,
“Ye newborn snowdrops to behold.”
Sir Trui said nought for it did seem
That he was wrapped up in a dream.
But brave Sir Andrew gave the ladies
Many flowery cortesyes.
So they passed on through the snow.
The cold made cheeks and noses glow.
And there beneath a beechen tree
Were snowdrops nodding, one, two, three.
The ladies stopped their sweet palfreys
And the knights they knelt on bended knee.
“This is the place”, Sir Trui said,
And gladly bowèd down his head.
They gathered in a sacred ring
There to dance and chant and sing
To honour Brighid, the goddess fair
With fire and water, earth and air,
And palm to palm, with love they stood
Within that magic, snowy wood.
That night right merry made they all
Within Sir Andrew’s generous halls
With mead and pasty, cake and tea
And Sir Andrew’s lady’s company.
But fragments of their souls had stayed
Enchanted in that icy glade
Where roe deer run, and foxes tread
And the Goddess lingers with her God.
Liz Cruse
February 2009
