The Morrígna over me by day,
Bedb
In the guise of the crow.
You will tell me what to say,
Reveal what I should know.
The Morrígna over me at night,
Macha
On the wings of the owl.
You will show me second sight,
The path of right action now.
The Morrígna over me with power
An Mór Righan
Terrible, raven-black and glistening.
From Whom wisdom? Now Her
Voice speaks; who cannot be listening?
Judith O’Grady
is an elderly Druid (Elders are trees, neh?) living on a tiny urban farm in Ottawa, Canada. She speaks respectfully to the Spirits, shares her home and environs with insects and animals, and fervently preaches un-grassing yards and repurposing trash (aka ‘found-object art’).
GODS & RADICALS 
Nice work, I like the way you’ve used idioms from the old Irish lore in the poem, it makes it sound much older.
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