Poem written by Mairéad Murphy
The Dragon Song” written and performed on Irish flute by Mairéad Murphy
Two choices!
Music alone
http://www.mediafire.com/?njztmv42cor
or!
Music and my reading of the poem
http://www.mediafire.com/?j5mtdmzm3jy
(Right click and open in new tab/window)
A rowan tree speaks:
“O’ pleasant Úna,
whose hair carries the scent of lily and dew
Step onward toward my whisper, dearest fair.
Walk, for the siren hath broken the fog
and thine feet do not leave sully to the snow before me.
I call upon thee to wake him with the dragon song!”
~The land was fragile in silent winter.
Sombre and gleaming,
breaking where he lucent dust lay atop it.
Yearning for comfort.
The soil is brittle,
lilting in the vernal wake.
Now, where it begs snapping underneath
for the flute of dear Úna
and singing these words
“Give strength to his bough and roots.”~
~A tranquil gust swiftly carried the lambent jewels
east to the horizon’s belly, upon it wrapped
tightly with the rowan tree’s voice. Flying now
where Úna rests her fanciful head.~
~Pretty she, with silk laid ‘pon her curves,.
a gown of the white petals
she of Luis borne.
A bow of twigs and leaves set in her silver hair
curling in the gusts ‘round
a signature of ice and water
setting in her feathery blue eyes.~
~Descent of the moon she fell
from his hands like a dulcet rain.
She of blossoms fell ‘pon rowan’s arm.
And in fire’s scarlet berry had she lived
among Brigid’s ashes.
Awaking the green dragon
from bright lightning and twittering moon
to lay his scales upon the branches
of Ogham’s February tree.~
~Sapient hands, she had pulsing
to the rhythm of the tundra
and the soft blending
of misty snow.
Flying hands, like an echo
on the flute’s wooden beam.~
~Dear Úna stood among the trees. Placing a foot
where the ample starlight trickled down
in white prisms and blue fog.
Through the arbour’s thinning hair
a motley bird of green and rainbow,
bold eyes of amber and wise face of sage
had an expression of stone
with a diamond inside and said,
“All of Elphame, your music summons”~
He let down his old hand
from the stormy moon and worlds afar,
a lifting eye had Luis been hatched
like the egg beneath the robin’s breast.
To Úna’s airy dragon song,
in the vernal wake for his scales to lay
the green of Imbolg’s aging year,
"Lá Fhéile Bríde."
All across this land.
The Rowan Tree speaks:
“My precious Úna,
whose song is of breaking ice
and clearing fog.
Come lay beneath the rowan tree this cerulean dawn.
Sanction to these feelings for you will be longing
to tiptoe in the transient mystery and wait at the doorstep,
of Ostara night.
No passing breeze will amount to the melody of thine flute.
For you precious Úna
are of Luis borne.”
Adding your comment:
point is that it's from the heart 
<--- I picked that in my garden especially for you! Hehe!
