The Dance of Midsummer

The Dance of Midsummer

Come, dance, my child, the day is young;
Greeteth the moon, the stars and sun.
Lay bare thy feet upon the ground;
Don merry bells and floral crowns.

Set loose your songs of emerald green,
Of crimson skies and sapphire seas,
Of meadows ripe and rivers vast,
Of fables woven of the past.

Rise up, rise up from whence ye be;
The prancing embers beckon thee.
Set tresses wild and spirits high;
The sun commands thy soul to fly.

As maidens dance with hands a-wed;
Lift up thy cup above thy head.
The longest day shalt mark a feast
Of what hath passed and what may be.

With rolling drums and crowing men,
All hail the sun! Our Providence.
May troubles melteth to the breeze
And be replaced with jollity.

Praise be ye lore of better days;
Praise be the Earth, her fruits and grain.
Praise be the moon, the stars and sun.
May summer blesseth everyone!

Amelia Dashwood © 2017, All Rights Reserved

Days of Gold

Days of Gold

Serce Spiewa by Absentii

These are the days we inhale summer
Her golden rays and restful slumber
The butterflies and whispering trees
Bright, coloured flowers and cloudless scenes

These are the days we nimbly rise
With plans to seize our precious lives
To breathe in blooms, to memorise
All that excites our hungry eyes

These are the days that paint us gold
That pleasure all, from young to old
With feet upon the sun-kissed grass
We’ll close our eyes and hope it lasts

These are the days we shall review
When old and grey and wiser too
We’ll sit and share our stories of
Adventurous trips and summer love

These are the days
That can’t be sold
Lasso each one
And paint them gold

~ Amelia Dashwood, All rights reserved © 2016
Image: Serce Spiewa by Absentii

A Tale of Midsummer

A Tale of Midsummer

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Come, gather round and render tales
Of sunlit skies and rugged flames
Of hands outstretched towards the sky
Of crafted wheels and bales of fire
Of beating drums and crowing men
Of lyrics hollered towards the glen
Of ancient stones and weathered walls
A hallowed sunrise praised by all
A time to mark the longest day
An ancient feast, a grand parade
A jig composed of joining hands
A desperate prayer to bless the land
Don crowns of green and ribbons white
Come, sit beneath the pale moonlight
With merriment and love and fire
The solstice honours Earth’s true sire

~ © 2016 Amelia Dashwood, All rights reserved.