Compass

Will You Not Waken?

You run to Halloween in a consumer dream,
a sickle-superficial, sweet affair;
advent of Samhain teases at a theme:
some song, seeped from the sidhe, is in the air.

I can't even sing it, may not express
(imprinted between evocation
and the inner ear), cannot quite address
its sadness in my imagination.

Only, when it surges, it seems to come
from some so far away island drenched in time
as may well have been once our long-lost home;
how else can sorrow be so sweet, bear rhyme?

When deep fey music rings, then will a door
open in the heart, slam shut nevermore?

.......................

'Samhain' is pronounced 'Sow-in' and 'sidhe' (the mounds) is pronounced 'sheeth -uh'