Luis the Rowan ... loving

Ogma was walking through the banqueting hall
when an air of sweet harp music lulled him away from his senses.

When he awoke a branch of rowan was beside him
with white blossoms on it.

Later, he was attending court
and took the branch of rowan
that he placed into the gathering fire.

The fragrance of the blossom
entered the lungs and the blood of the hearts
of all men present. 

And from that gathering fire
a beautiful women appeared
and radiantly poured light upon them all.

Gently she spoke
as white bronze formed beneath her feet
and the court of today's warriors and tomorrow's heroes
became a home of kindness toward her.

And there a tall rowan tree that had always been barren
filled its branches with flowers,
and on these branches birds gathered
and shared melody that was infectious. 

The warriors became enchanted by the chants of women around them
in harmony with the strings of harps, 
woven into bows of rowan branches,
releasing sounds wafting from cauldrons of willow,
attached to the bows of rowan that were strung together with bronze.

Within this circle of men in court
there is now no grief, no gripe, no treason.
Away is the favoured haunt of pleasure!
No taunt, no threat, no maladdiction
when this sweet music embraces their ears.

No visions of death, no mourning, no sorrow.

Instead, strength, passion and wisdom
embraces all horned feelings within the court circle
inspiring wonder where once was comparison,
tolerance where once was challenge,
clear vision where once was mist.

As a dragon's fire ignites in every heart,
and every dragon's tale
is always umbilically connected
to the heart of this one beautiful woman, 
in the gathering fire,
the same beautiful woman
that resides, courts and judges
at the point where our two worlds meet.

So there we were
after the sun had set
drinking the finest of wines.

Horses of gold ran around us so we feel our abundance.
Horses of purple ran around us so we feel our pride as if we are royal.
Horses of blue ran around us so we feel courage, 
and not be restricted by boundaries of concern for distance and time.

Then into the dawn of new day
the pure man from the bed of the Morrigu
the pure man who's darkness is shed. 

With a voice that is no longer
of grief, of slavery, of mourning
but of pure voice from the women of the rowan.

The woman of the rowan
who urged Ogma to make a ship from her branches
to journey west and always be in a land of joy.

Its not to every man that this offer made, by her,
and so Ogma's journey, 
in the rowan boat,
and hoisted sails of salleys
became another of Ogma's Tale Of The Trees ...

to read an explanation of this story poem please click here