****************************************************************************

MY IDOL

What is that song the winds speak of
that drifts in with the coming morn,
and takes us on a mystic journey
endless, without a known destination?

What is that voice which sings so true
may it forever burn and be heard
and weave those tales of lovers lost,
speak the tears of voiceless swans.

Whose is that soul of kindly actions,
of help given and not just lended,
the soul that shall live through sun and shadow,
long after the old ways have passed?

Whose are those feet that tread this earth
who have blessed the coast of Clare
Island of Shalott and many more,
and made sure we were always there?

Whose are those hands that work magic
across silver strings of the harp of life
who knocked on the door of a heart's visit
and brought with them a garland gay?

Whose are those lips that spill forth words
of sheer poetry and stunning tunes,
and of graceful ballads long forgotten
written by those famous Shakespeare's hands?

Whose is that hair of such vivid hue
the colour of bonfires in a soulful night
to break the silence from afar
and burn intensely even in dawn's light?

They are all from the one and same,
the woman with those eyes so wise,
but mistake me not for she also has flaws
like each and every one of us, the living beings.

A Goddess's voice
A faerie's grace
Every god's choice
With a human face.

****************************************************************************

Dedicated to Loreena McKennitt