And so we come to the end of the dread days.
May brings blossoms and sometimes rain.
The Cailagh cackles. Her twigs are crackling
in her hearth, dry and needless of restocking.
Endless ticks and tockings as the days hurry past.
The Sun seems anxious to grow, anxious to set,
but her days of maturity aren't even halfway over yet.
Bring fire and spin this wheel’s turn.
Wish away the memories of winter.
Let her savage kisses burn
and cover me with sacred blisters.
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