Cuchulainn and the Rose:

Cuchulainn holds a forest within a forest in his mind
A centuries old vision of a rose withered by time
She came down from yon green garden
yon green garden in the mists
she came down from yon green garden
by the orchard neath the liss
And she wept: "Beloved poet, o loved poet of the north,
Come you back to raise my song to all my children neath the sword
Come you back to keep your bond to cleanse your blade
By yon green ford
Come you back to keep your bond to cleanse your blade
By yon green ford

I am come to cleanse your wounds
Which are my wounds beloved witch
I am come beloved Erin not with a sword
But with a wish that my children
Yet thy children may receive no less than this
That my children yet thy children
May know freedom from this ancient trick

The rose you hold so sacred to yon breast beloved witch
The rose you hold which now as then united by a kiss
Maybe the rose that now as then unites us neath
A common sky and not the blooded, thorned rose
Raped by tyranny and lies. . .