National Poetry Month

A tip o'the hat to maurinsky at "Laughing Wild" for her response to a hat tip from Brave Sir Robin.

For national poetry month, nothing but poetry will do. One of my favorites by William Butler Yeats.

The Harp of Aengus

Edain came out of Midhir's hill, and lay
Beside young Aengus in his tower of glass,
Where time is drowned in odour-laden winds
And Druid moons, and murmuring of boughs,
And sleepy boughs, and boughs where apples made
Of opal and ruhy and pale chrysolite
Awake unsleeping fires; and wove seven strings,
Sweet with all music, out of his long hair,
Because her hands had been made wild by love.
When Midhir's wife had changed her to a fly,
He made a harp with Druid apple-wood
That she among her winds might know he wept;
And from that hour he has watched over none
But faithful lovers.

There. Beautiful poetry. It doesn't matter how it is crafted or spun. It matters how it feels. I will now go to caress my Druid-cherry wood harp I made myself. I will feel and hear the music. I will sing an old song about faithful lovers.

3B's