Riding the Wind

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Those high, dry skies of flaming June

Are in absentia in damp and cold November

For the patterns in the grass do not last.

So, we must take the winding stair into the

High towers above the land of forgetfulness

Where once upon a golden dawn good faeries

Danced a circle of rare delight within the sight

Of John Mulligan who, on the last day of August

1938, according to the London Times (6/9/1938),

Met two fairies dancing near Ballingarry, West Limerick.

They were two foot tall, very well read and talked

With style upon the Kabbalah and the Theosophists

And the Tibetan Book of the Dead. Fallen angels

Cannot be as close as fairy lore abides with me.

Faeries still mourn the fall of the serpent and rise

Of the cross.  Enchantment comes at such a heavy cost

Tears will show you the undercurrent of the old mythologies

Those aristocracies of thought that bleed into the

Soil and leach into the heart, where all great art is rooted.

 

🌷 (1)

◄ Caillteanas buan de sonas

The Stolen Child ►

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