Monday, 2 May 2011

A Beltane Poem

I'm not the pheasant plucker
I'm the pheasant plucker's son
I'm only plucking feathers
As the May King he doth come

He's here to claim his Lady
He's here to claim his Bride
He's decked out in his finery
Feather, fur and greenery
(He's stopped off at the winery!)
He's here to claim his Queen

She dances with her maidens,
all coy, demure inviting,
she flutters, he struts
this mating dance of Life

I'm not the pheasant plucker
I'm the pheasant pluckers son
I'm stoking up the Balefires
I'm jumping through the Balefires
I'm not the pheasant plucker
I'm the May King's son

Now...where's my Queen!

~ Blaiddwolf, 2011

No comments:

Post a Comment