For Brighid the Bright

I am a circle of nineteen stones,
I am the Queen inside the mound.

I am the flame within the winter,
I am a serpent from the hole,
I am a cock who crows at dawn.

I am a kindled spark,
I am the welling spring,
I am a maiden all in green.

I am a cow newly calved,
I am the midwife and the mother,
I am the milk in a baby's mouth.

I am the fire beneath the cauldron,
I am the sun's image in a pool,
I am the water and the cup.

I am the beaten bronze,
I am the hands of the harper,
I am a frog hidden in the rushes.

The folds of my cloak form the green hills
My bright flame does not die.

(By me. Part of the 4th annual Brighid in the Blogosphere Poetry Reading.)