by Rose Flint

Tonight the sky is full of watching eyes
as the Ancestors press their faces
close up to the razor-edge that separates
the living from the dead.

At Samhain, there’s a witching hour
when the gates inside the universe swing slowly
open, allowing restless spirits access here,
to haunt with anger, fear and sorrow,

But on this night, when the misty veils
waver to transparent lace, we too can walk
between the worlds and enter the great grey halls
of those who’ve made that final crossing.

We’ll call the Dark Ones - Ceridwen,
and the Nine Morgans – to lead us, lend us courage
as we take our steps beyond the voids of Time
to cross the thresholds of the Otherworld.

We will make the journey with our hands
held out to offer healing, offer gifts
of sweet red apples from the Isle of Avalon,
sunlit orchards sewn with stars’ secret light.

We’ll walk the windswept corridors
of midnight, go stepping generations back
to find the huddled bones of those
whose hurt still resonates in living hearts

and we will freely give such balm and solace
in our kiss of peace. We’ll do whatever it may take
to mend this world’s history, bring fresh hope
to the next seven generations still to come.

©Rose Flint