She sings to help the living and the dead She sings to help the poets find their song Tis Brigid of Kildare who fills my head And shows the words I write where they belong
She told me once of Coventina’s sin She told me Coventina fell in love A mortal man whose name she said was Finn A poet’s story Brigid told me of
I wrote it down to honor it and her A story made of words that must be told Upon my page the words I did confer I picture her as never growing old
A poet and a muse, with long red hair She comes to me as Brigid of Kildare
This entry was posted on Tuesday, December 17th, 2024 at 11:12 pm and is filed under Images, Sonnets. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.
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