I search for stones to skim along the loughshore,
I find one; flat, thin and perfect, yet I don’t throw.
I notice the erosion that has carved through it.
A hag stone; a marvel of rarity and nature.
An amulet formed by the elements
That has skimmed through history and folklore.
Snake egg, milpreve, witch stone, druids’ glass,
A stone of many names and talents.
I hold it to my eye as I walk home,
To look for monsters and evil.
I only glimpse their wispy essence as they flee,
From fear that I can see them.
At places of death and tragedy,
I see creatures of mourning,
Haggard, sad, long-faced and gaunt;
Harmless if you let them be.
Held up to my ear, the wind becomes musical,
The rivers and brooks flow by in lyrics,
As animal calls and cries become songs.
The world has never sounded so beautiful!
This mystical stone, I feel its gentle warmth.
Taking pride of place on my mantelpiece,
And with it nearby the fire never dies out,
No matter how little I feed and tend the hearth.
Image credit: Ansgar Koreng via Wikimedia Commons (CC BY-SA 3.0 DE)
