he maid was fair of face and form
Her eyes the green of a great sea storm
Her hands were gentle, soft and strong
Her manner as noble as one high born
She blessed the water that it would run clean
She blessed the lands that would start to green
She blessed the ewes that the milk would come
She blessed the Earth to take bounty from
When o’er the hill a horseman came
His mount from a battle afar come up lame
He was young and fine and moved with grace
But the maid saw foreboding upon his face.
What was a horseman without his mount?
And how many leagues could he hope to count?
With a horse coming lame and no smithy was he
So the maid felt compassion and rushed to see.
She knelt in the mud and held the forelock firm
The war stallion whinnied and started to turn.
But she spoke in a whisper, gentle barely a sound
Then the great horse stood quiet as her magic bound.
The horseman stood silent and wide were his eyes
For the horse was a gift from the king, a great prize.
And here a fair maid kneeling covered in mud
With her hands coated thick with the stallion’s bright blood
Was yet she unafraid to touch and to heal
While the smithy himself had been loath to so kneel.
All time seemed to stop as he stood holding the rein
Until the maid stood again, and stroked the thick mane.
The stallion, impatient now pawed at the ground
And the young horsemen marveled for no wound could be found.
"Fair maid", he began, "can you explain this deed?"
And the fair maiden smiled as he mounted his steed.
"Can you not know this day, Sir. Can you not indeed?"
As she vanished a voice bright with laughter called "Ta me Bride"

©2001 by Trish Reynolds