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Association of Polytheist Traditions

The Honey-Tongued

Copyright © by Robin Herne 2003

Ogma, carpenter of song,
Harvest the forest of thought,
Carve the timbre of my voice,
That the nemeton be wrought.

Gnarled the Tree whence language born,
Old the God whom Ogham made.
Youthful yet the lips that speak
And the hand that weilds the blade.

Orna praises the hero,
Makes memory history.
In Ogma's service he works,
Freed from dark Inis Tiureadh.

Honey-tongue, caress my ears.
Amber tales in rivers run
Through the stream-beds of my heart,
Savoured by my loved one.

In the wildwoods of the mind,
Strange beasts rut, conceive new words
that sing in branches high above,
At the festival of birds.

Radiant-faced Ogma hears
The melding of words to verse.
Stories told, a joy to him
Who acts as Memory's nurse.