Aengus Óg

A distant sense of Aengus Óg

No more than knowledge of this god

Is brought to bear upon my mind

And yet I hear a nearer sound:

A harp elusive on the wind

So close that I can hear the strings

Could it be for me they sing

Like birds in the early summer dawn

Or the sigh of wind through bending grasses,

Or do I merely hear what passes

On the breeze for others to perceive?

Perhaps, but then a listening ear

Is also there, a curious stare

Wondering who might be hovering

At the edges of the whispered speech

And so I wait a turn to speak

And, if invited, say my piece

As yet unsure how to approach this god.