Lugh’s Garden

Find me a flower,
But let it live where it grows.
Touch it with your lips,
And bring the flower’s beauty
Back to my cheek with a kiss.

No light,
But from the love
That shines out of your smile;
Though the world be bound in clouds, I’m
Blinded.

The weight of a life,
May sometimes be reflected
In how a face falls
Downward at all it edges,
Until laughter lifts it up.

I’m sorry I laughed
When you syrupped your sausage,
And put tarter sauce
On the basket of French fries.
It was just you, being you.

Not until you left,
Did I understand my loss,
And that I wanted
The you, that you really were,
Before I tried to change you.

Now they sell sausage
Flavored with maple syrup.
So I think of you,
And wonder when my French fries
Will be served with tarter sauce.

His hand upon the helm is tanned and strong,
It holds a steady course through sun or storm,
No matter if the tack is short or long,
Through bitter night, or day that’s soft and warm.

Though you may chart the course you wish to keep,
And choose a port to stay in for the night,
The helmsman’s hand will set the anchor deep,
And keep you safe until the morning light.

When seas, like mountains, build across the sky,
And storm-winds beat tattoos against the bow,
You’ll find your strength and comfort in his eye,
And in the steady hand that guides the prow.

Regardless of how far you choose to roam,
His hand upon the helm will take you home.