Listen to Brandon L. Rucker's music while enjoying this page
I celebrate the ritual of rhyme,
The voice that sings out where the stones stand high,
And summons herons wheeling down the sky
To sing the rhythms ancienter than Time.
Then let this metre shiver through my soul,
That I may master it and make it mine:
And in the heady heather-honey wine
I’ll celebrate this night the moon is full.
The Rade’s abroad amidst the mists, their cries
All echoing in the swirling glow, the fog
Now thick with curdled moonbeams. Old Coll’s dog
Lets out a growl; a yowl; then he shies
And runs for home: there’s older things than light
Out riding on the starry wind tonight.
The herons whip the sky with silver wings,
Descending past the moon that lights the fen.
A faint high voice sings longing songs, and men-
Or wise ones- stop their ears from she that sings.
For leanan-shee or ban-shee, as it’s told,
She’s sung men to hills, whence none returned.
But I, who heed her haunting call, have spurned
The thing I never loved, poor earthly gold,
In favour of the silver of the fey.
I would not turn again from sky and stone,
Who walked in town and dale so long alone.
I’ll dance now, with the wisps to light my way,
A dance of older things than gold or Time:
And celebrate the ritual of rhyme.
