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