by Rev. Kirk Thomas
The mists roll gently on the land,
Though sun will surely come
To clear the mists and warm the place
Where He is huddled, cold and drear,
In pain and anguished fear.
His heart is broken by Her lies,
His body’s broken, too.
He fled and limped upon the wind,
So angry, battered and abused –
So totally confused.
The blows had been so swift and sharp,
His body wracked in pain,
But when His heart was cleaved in two
His inner self was freed to fly
And heed his eagle cry.
And like the sun that weakens as
December comes around,
So, too, did Lleu upon that bough
Grow faint and weak with loss of blood
Shed by His false beloved.
The sun now peeks in through the leaves
And warms His blood a bit.
The sound of movement in the leaves
Below his perch cuts through His fears –
For Gwydion appears!
But springtime sees the sun grow strong,
And so it is with Lleu.
With healing comes His manly shape –
His strength returns with wondrous speed –
He does no longer bleed.
There will be justice for the deed.
