Fay Slimm.



Birth Rites.

She pulled the cloak tightly around swollen frame
And bending low entered through hole to the cave.

Lush grasses and ferns hid foot-path to rock floor,
The spirits would know she had been there before.

Spirit-sighs flooded cavern with wet ghostly chill.
Requesting rich offerings exchanged for goodwill.

Hide bag she ripped open to present roasted meat.
Kissing altar\'s stone icon she then made a retreat.

Crouched in tiny recess but quite silent she made
Low obeisance to shadows yet fearless remained.

     She knelt eyes half closed while waiting for signs.     
Prayed for courage to face child-bearing survival.


Ascending she left fresh thanksgivings of grain.
And that Celtic Princess gave birth without pain.