Blessed Imbolc

While today is a day reserved to honor Brigid (the Celtic Goddess of healing, the home and the forge) it is also a day reserved in the Pagan blogosphere for sharing poetry as part of the Brigid Poetry Festival.  This tradition has been happening every Imbolc for 7 years.  So I thought I would post something myself. I wrote this last year to honor Persephone, of course. 

In Her Hand She Held The Flower

Did she know that fateful hour?

That her place would be as queen.

When in her hand she held the flower.

Could she imagine all that power?

On the throne, she would be seen.

Did she know that fateful hour?

She escaped from that ivory tower.

She felt a love not obscene.

When in her hand she held the flower.

Deep in snow, the earth will cower.

In the winter she goes unseen.

Did she know that fateful hour?

The brand new vines climb the bower.

In the spring the world will green.

When in her hand she held the flower.

With each season changes devour.

Moaning winds wail and keen.

Did she know that fateful hour?

When in her hand she held the flower.