Poetry

Dream of the Rood; St Patrick’s Day, 2041

Dream of the Rood   So! I will sing    the sweetest dream, that made its mode    in the middle night while beer-swillers    belched on benches, Syllicre trēow,    the truest of trees, gilded, gifted,    with gems embedded.   “The Lord of Heaven    leapt to my limbs to forgive your guilt    by giving his life.”   Lifted in air,    laved in its light, it had five jewels    enjambed in its tree-gum. This came in sleep    to a sorrowful soul swimming in sin,    stained dark by evil. When the Master motions,    miracles happen.   On Good Friday,    gravest of feast days, I crawl…

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