Bodhran! Bodhran!

By the Bodhran!
By Laedie Willacaw

My Temae and Zen are placed carefully back upon the shelf,
So the Bard can dance again, and laugh merrily with the elves.
I wobble, but I regain the motions amongst a tad bit o' time,
And there I be, amongst the hills o' rolling green, weaving for all, Ireland's rhythm and rhyme.
Fire-dancers, piper-players, and faire maidens galore,
We drink with the Clurichaun, and toast to Irish folklore.
One pint, two pint, three pint, ten,
The Bard can feel her ol' Gaelic self seeping through again,
Her blood be a pumpin', as her soul starts a hummin',
Her heart then starts her inevitable Celtic drummin'.
The Taiko is put to rest as the Bodhran takes its turn,
The tales, the dances... the Wise Ones laugh, makin' her soul yearn and burn.
Bodhran! Bodhran! Play the tune loud!
Let me ears be flipped to bits as I hear the ol' Pagan Sound.
Bodhran! Bodhran! The trees, they are a swayin',
The Witches, they come about, as mischief, they are a playin'.
Blarney I spew as me heart-bodhran blasts,
"Fough a' ballagh!" I clearly shout as I hoisten the main mast.
'Tis time for adventure, 'tis time to be free,
I lead these hills with me drum as a compass- shall ye accompany me?
For tomorrow, my Yamato-Damashii shall Awaken, but until then...
Hail! Ye merry and whimsy nights, I honor ye by the Bodhran! By the Bodhran!