You said you’d marry me
on Beltane,
the Gaelic May Day,
when life and earth
are at their peak.

You said I’d be your Flora,
your goddess of Spring,
we’d exchange hands and 
we’ d exchange rings;
You said you’d merrily marry me,
and forever be
my Jack-in-the-Green.

I said I’d jump brooms
and jump fire, 
to unite earth and sky,
spend night in the woods,
gather blossoms and dew,
I said I’d gladly be May Queen
if the May King was you.

But you never won my hand,
you never even tried;
we never jumped brooms,
no hand knots were tied;
you simply spoke of Beltane,
and your Gaelic May Bride.

Originally published in the literary and arts journal, Parley. May 2020.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

Blog at

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: