The Oaten Bride (3) Poem by David McLansky

The moon will summon as a bell.
There’s magic in the chanted spells,
Her groom awaits to claim his bride
To take his rights beside her side.

A cloud of blackness shrouds the moon
A sign the dancers take for doom;
For if the bride’s not sanctified
The Sun in Spring will be denied.

A sudden gust clears the sky
How brilliant shines the night time eye;
The dancers shout relief that’s joyous,
The Maiden joins the laughing chorus;

The dagger planted in the Earth
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