[Lawtan]

(Image from reclaimingthedarkgoddess)

"O’ mighty crone of ancient lore,
Shall I sing you a tune?
For my people wished to honor,
One as fierce as you.”

A-huum, huu-huum

“O, Cailleach, what grand old strength,
You bear within your form,
You embrace all the graces of winter,
So pretty is your frostbitten hair
So nice it is, would you sit down,
I’d love to sing you some more.”

A-roar, ro-roar

“O, Cailleach, what’s this you say,
Your lids droop wth sleep,
Then allow me, fair crone,
To take you to your home,
A cave alone which could be warm,
In the face of eternal winter,
There, you may rest,
And collect your wood in an hour.”

A-oor, oo-oor

“What’s this, dear Cailleach,
You look far too pale and wan,
My people would not forgive me,
If you I let to stray,
Stay and rest and grow well again,
The wood will not move,
Let me play a lullaby for you-
I think it may sound similar,
So let me soothe you into sleep,
And make your worries for today be forgotten…”

So, the Trickster packed his flute,
And left the slumbering Crone,
And he, sun-child, headed west,
Back to his Long-house People.


(Rather Terrible Poetry from Sorrows of Faith/Hope of Nature)