Oh, bright flame of the dawn, You,
who came before me and still breathe into the forge,
whisper into the ears of poets, long after my bones
have ground into dust upon the earth, I held your place
claimed it for my own—but what choice did I have?
Patrick had arrived, cast his fire atop the Hill of Slaine
brought my God to your people
But you were fading already, your son’s deceit
bleeding tradition onto the battlefield, the blood of matriarchal
death seeping into the soil to find underground waterways
Continue reading “St. Brigid to Brigid of Danu By Anne Fricke”
feminismandreligion.com 