The Smith’s Samhain Feast
When holy scribes kneel down to pray
And bid the sun be on its way,
The stars awake at end of day
And bid me come to Gobhniu’s hall.
In darkened mound beneath the ground
Red Gobhniu sits, of old renowned.
The evening lengthens as is its course
And mead is served, as sweet as gorse.
Came I at last to brooding gate
And fearing then that I was late
I beat upon the hollow door
As many souls have done before
By great stone table, in cold stone chair
I took my place to eat my share
Gobhniu’s glass is raised in toast
To all of us and him the host
And now I fear my soul be lost
In Dwarrow-delve, by angels cursed
His fey words confer a tithe
Those who hear condemned to writhe
And weep, for forfeit be their souls
Their hearts and minds so quickly sold.
Too late they learn, fake mortal men
With elfin hair and bloodied hem.
The soul of man is but a gem
That Gobhniu lusts to smite in gold.
So, take this counsel won with grist
When found abroad in faerie mists
Return you home and pay no heed -
The fabled gift of Gobhniu’s mead.
* * *From: Cailleach’s Weird Sister
Barbara blogs here