Mayday, but not time just yet to honour her coming
From the Otherworld – Rhiannon on a pale white horse
Evanescing like a glimpse of a first leaf in twilight – there
Then not there – as shadows rise and fall at the edge
Of the wood. I’ll wait for another turn of the Moon,
A new crescent, for a sign of her season; for leaves
Burgeoning bringing green light to the hawthorn,
And then blossom. So I will bright her horse,
With a new coat of whiteness to welcome her:
A new shrine for her coming when summer breezes
Dance in the leaves as her horse slows to turn
And she reigns to be among us once again.
greghill.cymru 