I wrote this as a Praise Offering for the Grove's Samhain ritual in 2006. I worked against my normal tendency to rhyme, and the result surprised me.
My Song for the Dagda
As middle age surprises me
And things aren't working quite as well
I notice, too, my pants are tight
And sight is fading, too, you see,
And then I think of You, my Lord,
Your tunic is too short, and so
And massive belly, porridge filled,
I look at You, and at myself,
Again, I think of You, my Lord,
Your cauldron always satisfies,
But 'tis not these I'm thinking of,
Oh no, it is Your mighty club;
Your club can batter men to death,
Of course, my club is not so great -
But both our clubs show vibrant life -
Your passion fills my frightened soul,
O mighty God, Great Dagda Mor,
Without great passion, what's the point?
Each day's a blessing, waste it not,
And if the folk should point and stare
For as You do it, so shall I!
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