Biddy (a poem for Imbolc)

Biddy

Early one February morn, a little old Biddy
Comes a knocking on my door.

Says she to I;
“Can you spare some time and hospitality for the poor.”
Say I to her:
“welcome, please come on in, have some brew and a warm.”

She smiles back at me with a face older than the hills
And as the wind whistles outside,
She sups her tea and takes her fill.

Says she to I:
“I’ve been known by many names
Some have called me Bride and Brigid of the flames.
I’ll take you on a journey so that you may see my life,
I bring a gift of inspiration
And bestow Blessings on every wife.
I be a midwife and a healer
A Smithy, poet and a Queen,
I walk between both worlds,
Betwixt the unseen and the seen.

I be the spirit that dances with Maidens
Whom herald in the Spring,
I be the spirit of lovers kissing
Exchanging vows with a wedding ring.

I be the spirit of mothers birthing
Bringing forth, a brand new life,
I be the spirit of human toiling
Overcoming sadness and human strife.”

Say I to her:
“I’m honoured by your presence,
truly I don’t know where to begin.”
Says she to I:
“Child, you returned my Blessings
The moment you let me in.”

I turn to her with gratitude
Overwhelmed by both gains, and thoughts of loss,
To find that she has vanished
But left behind her Bridgets cross.

A symbol of corn woven into death and all that shall be reborn
Says I to myself:
“I’ll remember Biddy each sunset and Bridget each new dawn.”

I hang up the corn dolly in my kitchen, for all to view
Then take my old copper kettle, and put it on for another brew.

I gaze out of the window and see Biddy throughout the land
And although she’s no longer with me,
I know that she’s always their at hand.


Rosie Weaver 09