Celtic Legend by Eliza Witte - HTML preview

Arcadia

The sound of reed pipes down the hill.

His caress. He said he loved me.

My soul – so calm, yet happy, thrilled, And clear like the sky above me.

I saw the valleys and the woods, The cattle white – idyllic bliss.

A picture pure like childhood Was sweetened by his endless kiss.

A maid – belonging now – I’ll sing!

The wreath of flowers on my head.

A timid promise – it will bring A dream fulfilled I won’t forget.

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My Song, And There Were Daffodils...

My song… and there were daffodils that knew it!

Upon my way the thorns will be my friends.

Madly and foretold was this pursuit.

My walk barefooted now, surrendered, ends.

Alive, my blood the spirits will awake.

They angrily will yawn for I disturbed Their peaceful sleep around the holy lake Where unicorns drink wisdom and absurd.

My tears will be the price for their forgiveness.

The craft is spread upon the grieving plains Where I’ll be on my knees, berate and needless, Just to catch and hear this song again.

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Here Comes The Rain Again Here comes the rain again.

The freshness of the spring and rainbows.

The child runs. Her laugh disdains Fate that hangs above her brow.

The careless steps - to feel the drops In her hair, upon her face, To chase the naughty sunny spots That guide her to a fairy place.

Here comes the rain again.

The brightest way to roses led.

The rose was longing to acquaint With her. And then the blossom met Happily her palm because Her smile was lovelier then a rose.

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