Four Sons of the Mother

Who wishes to go a-seeking berries?

Asked the kind young man

Three boys’ heads turned

Fast as owl heads.

Jumping up as one,

“Where shall we go?” they cried.

Happy hands gathered pails

Running feet over meadows sailed

To forest and field this Lammas tide

As the sun made for its rest

Triumphant boys returned well spent

We picked blackberries and late cherries!

Mouths, hands and faces warrior painted

There is so much and more to come!

We will take a bunch home to Mom!

Oh the blessings of Lughnasadh

Corn and grain the fruits of love

Ripe and full in warm air you hovered

Then plucked and joyous gathered

By these four sons of the Mother

A blessing for the table

A blessing on the wood and field

A blessing on their household

A blessing I have seen