At Eventide Poem by Steve Trimmer

At eventide, on Day of Mothers, I shall think of thee
Whilst tarrying at the rill
Or nigh the fairest lea
In Selene`s Moonlight still
Or With Branwen o`North Sea

Doth dree bereft thy heart? Reft thy soul?
Ne`er we shouldst cry
On Imramma, our dearest go
Betwixt two worlds at eventide
Their sidereal smile glows

Twain, Father and Son, oft I see with The Muse
They rest in Her arms
Where Keewadin blows
In somnolent charms
She loves them so

At eventide, incantations said, portend of my dreams

Quoth I;

' I love thee dear Mother
E`er through epochs of time
As does my brother
Like Bards of Ancient Rhymes
To versify an Idyll, to ye, Soul of Beauty
Is a gift from Arianrhod`s Caer
Jubilant psalm, Rose of Ruby
With veracity of Matriarchs ere'

With alacrity, I think of my Dear Mother, paraclete of The Muse
In twilight enchantment, The Three Graces smile, lief...
.......At Eventide