Ode to Eve's Irish Father Fallen

Western sails, the sleek skiff
sets out sunset upon waves
Manannan's maids cast cool :
and the Irishman meets
his mothers and fathers'
summerland country, with cups
of quickened mead smooth
to soul, he goes loved to lands
where fairies hold sway, seeks
songs, and finds them.



My good friend Eve Ghost lost her father this week, and sends him shortly upon his way to the Western halls of the forefathers. To bring her strength, and honor her, I dedicate this poem. May the precious sup of life's green fluids running sap-ferment from Yggdrasil's evergreen boughs restore the strength of kin, and seal the sore to wholeness, let it be so, I say upon this day and bid it done by Gods who bless.