My little hommage to Imbolc / Candlemas.
For this day I am joining what will hopefully be many more bloggers putting a poem on their blog in honour of Imbolc and Brigid .I joined the chain from Ambermoggie
For this day I am joining what will hopefully be many more bloggers putting a poem on their blog in honour of Imbolc and Brigid .I joined the chain from AmbermoggiePlease feel free to join in .
Meg Merrilees
By John Keats
Old Meg she was a Gypsy,
Old Meg she was a Gypsy,
And lived upon the Moors:
Her bed it was the brown heath turf,
And her house was out of doors.
Her apples were swart blackberries,
Her currants pods o' broom;
Her wine was dew of the wild white rose,
Her book a churchyard tomb.
Her Brothers were the craggy hills,
Her Sisters larchen trees -
Alone with her great family
She lived as she did please.
No breakfast had she many a morn,
No dinner many a noon,
And 'stead of supper she would stare
Full hard against the Moon.
But every morn of woodbine fresh
She made her garlanding,
And every night the dark glen Yew
She wove, and she would sing.
And with her fingers, old and brown,
She plaited Mats o' Rushes,
And gave them to the Cottagers
She met among the Bushes.
Old Meg was brave as Margaret Queen,
And tall as Amazon:
An old red blanket cloak she wore;
A chip-hat had she on.
God rest her aged bones somewhere -
She died full long agone!
I learnt this poem when I was nine in Miss Knapton's class and it's stay with me all my life .
Somewhere in my ancestors there must have been Gypsy's as I love nothing more than the open road and would have loved to have travelled round in a gypsy vargo selling my crafts. Three years ago I sort of realised a dream when we bought our little caravan as we now travel to shows on the open road to sell our wears at shows .
Well Candlemas "Dawned Fair and Bright " so according to folklore Winter will have another flight . This is what we awoke to this morning and apparently ,there's more to come . I will spend the day Dyeing I think ;)
