But but but …
What about the queens?
Well …
Been talking to Brigid …
Says maybe …
The lady harper
This time around …
Well …
Almost Imbolc again …
The old hag? Will she be …
Gone gone gone
Replaced by
Catrin
The beauteous Finch

And what says she, the old hag?

From out across the centuries
Come her shrill poem:

“The maidens rejoice
When May-day comes to them:
For me, sorrow the share;
I am wretched, I am an old hag.
I hold no sweet converse.
No wethers are killed for my wedding-feast,
My hair is all but grey,
The mean veil over it is no pity.
I do not deem it ill
That a white veil be on my head;
Time was when cloths of every hue
Bedecked my head as we drank good ale.”