If Winter Was a Man.
He’d dress himself in cloak of weeds
Of Ragwort and Thistles with drifting seeds
A coat that scatter hope onto the day
Of wild meadow grasses wind scorched to hay.
That is how he’d dress if Winter was a man.
A miser hording living’s light
And stealing heat from day and night
He’d creep unseen across the lands.
Scatter frost from grasping hands.
That is how he’d be if winter was a man
A face to mirror frosted day
He’d sport a beard of hoar salty grey
And cheeks of palest crystal white
Young scion of Samhain’s longest night.
That is how his face would be if winter was a man
And the world would slow its living beat
Nature would fall back in retreat
As grainog burrows into garden litter
The last leaves would tumble down a skitter
Green frogs burrow down to muddy pan
That’s how the world would be if winter was a man
And as the world turned once again
He’d don new threads of red and green
As solstice marks year’s final hour
And the men and creatures of the darkling mire
Would see the light with strength return
That is how the world would turn if winter was a man.
Then he would age as young year grew strong
His strength would fade as days grew long
His final breath then would chill the land
With frost and ice from trembling hand
That is how he would die if winter was a man.
Note: Grainog is the gealic name for the hedgehog.
Samhain is the celtic festival of mid winter.
© Dave Kavanagh @ daithiocaomanaigh.com