Lugh’s Garden

Like children, singing songs they’ve learned by rote,
Their words, just simple noises set to rhyme,
Each day we don an old familiar coat,
And step out on the stage just one more time.
We’ve learned to play our parts with style and grace,
Each line delivered like it was our own,
A finely crafted mask, to hide our face,
An ending for the play, we’ve always known.
If Pierrot should pine for Pierrette,
Or Cyrano should die for fair Roxanne,
What matter that our tears should fall, for yet,
We know it’s part of some celestial plan.
And thus, the play of life goes on unchanged,
Our choices, by the fates, all prearranged.

There is a spark that hides somewhere within
The soul, that love will turn into a flame,
And if love’s whisper should, this fire, begin,
No longer, can the heart remain the same.

For love and reason never can exist,
Within the vessel bounded by the mind.
If love be there, well, reason won’t be missed,
Keep reason there, and love you’ll seldom find.

Sometimes the flame of love burns like a star,
That fills the heavens with unending light,
Sometimes, it burns the heart and leaves a scar,
Then drowns in tears, to leave us with the night.

But this you must believe, I would not lie,
In souls like yours, that spark will never die.

How sweet, the song, her laughter brings to mind,
So gently sung, like Angel choirs on high,
Nor yet, on earth, its equal might I find,
Except within the sparkle of her eye.
Dark waves of night wash ‘round a face so fair,
Not even Troy can claim a finer prize,
Though flecks of gold, like stars, shine in her hair,
To echo sun-lit seas, that are her eyes.
Her touch, and gentle word, can bring the sun,
Tho’ storm-tossed night prevails when she’s not near;
I must awake, shake off the night, and run,
That I might kiss the hand I hold so dear.
How bold, my dreams, to wish for one so fine,
How sad, my life, alas, she is not mine.

What force is this, that flows in ancient wood,
To make the buds spring green on gnarled oak,
While winter’s snow hides rocks beneath its hood,
And breath floats on the air like wisps of smoke?

How bold to dress itself in bright array,
As if to show the world a new-found youth,
Ignoring all the years that slip away,
To disregard life’s one eternal truth.

Does not, the force of time, treat all the same,
And bring us ultimately to our end?
What then, could cause this withered branch to claim,
The ravages of time, it seeks to mend?

‘Tis love it feels, there is naught else that could,
Renew the life, and strength, in ancient wood.

Alone, I set upon a lover’s quest,
To find a soul that always would be true,
Someone in whom my love would find it’s rest;
I prayed for love, and then my heart found you.

With beauty like the sunshine after rain,
Or moonlight dancing on the meadow’s dew,
And something in your smile I can’t explain,
Together form the vision that is you.

How bold to think that my love might prevail,
With one who’s yet to feel the touch of age,
The picture in my mirror tells the tale,
A withered husk that holds me like a cage,

In perfect worlds, we’d love the one we choose,
But one should never seek to love a Muse.