There lies the intoxicating queen
Facing her enemies.
Look on her works and despair
As you walk through her lands.
She who set brother against brother
To become an equal.
She who escaped with her life to return
With nothing.
A forgotten village rises out of the mist,
Thousands of visitors passing by,
Animal and man alike stopping by the placard
To read of the past.
I wonder did these poor people feel any magic
Or protection from their queen when hunger struck?
Did they feel the magic that I feel now
Rolling around these hills?
Did the night feel more real then?
The crushing blackness and vacuum of sound
Punctuated by the sound of a banshee coming to
Collect another soul.
Or maybe there were little bits of laughter
Brought by friendly faeries.
The rustling of a mischievous cú sidhe
Bringing joy to the mountain children.
Cows and sheep watch us on our descent,
Picking at grass amongst the foundations of stone.
We dip beneath the fog and back to the real world
Leaving Queen Maeve to face Ulster and Cúchulainn on her own once more.
The Rathpeacon Rambler 