THE SCRIBE IN THE WOODS
(Old Irish Poem - anonymous)
A hedge of trees surrounds me, a blackbird's lay sings to me, praise I shall not conceal.
Above my lined book the trilling of birds sings to me.
A clear-voiced cuckoo sings to me in a gray cloak from the tops of bushes,
May the Lord save me from Judgment; well do I write under the greenwood.
I'm sure countless others in the blogosphere will be posting the Breastplate of St. Patrick today so I thought I'd offer another Irish poem instead. The ancient Celtic traditions in Ireland, and even moreso in Wales, are rich with these types of praise poems that reflect the authors' intentions to simply pause and give thanks for the wonders of the world.
I'm off this morning to lead a writing retreat where I hope to encourage participants (myself included) to write well among the trees and birds.
What are you singing praises for this St. Patrick's Day?
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