They came before at Bealtaine, riding the Black North Wind and when their feet touched the ground the Hawthorn bloomed upon the highest hill, ii. That same wind blows at dawn as I approach the lone Sceach Gheal, thorn in one hand, stone in the other and wait for six to join me. iii. Six emerge from the cloud of witnesses as the féth fíada parts for the morning sun: Amergin and Oisín, Pearse and Plunkett, Mad Sweeney and Crazy Jane backs to the tree, feet rooted in earth, we speak in one voice, summoning the king to judgement iv. Three lies will shatter the vessel of his power, three falsehoods has he spoken: he claimed to value every life, but sent bombs to murder thousands, he claimed to honor his noble dead, but ignored their wailing voices and did to others what his people endured, and when the living cried out in ferocious love, he called their pleading hatred, and now the cup has shattered in his hands, and the wine runs down his garments, staining them red as blood. v. The wind blows fiercer and the sky turns black, and fading star and the rising sun bear witness the branches tremble and break into bloom as a spectral form arrayed in white speaks from amidst the blossoms: vi. "Three falsehoods shatter the cup he holds, three truths can make it whole, "let the last verse form from the words he speaks and the deeds that soon then follow."
"A poet fasted on the lands of a king on whom the satire was to be uttered and then joined six other poets at sunrise to visit the top of a hill where a hawthorn was growing. Their backs were to be turned to the tree, with a north wind blowing. Having a perforated stone and a thorn in both hands, each man sang a satirical verse. All seven then laid their stone and thorn under the hawthorn. If they were in the wrong the ground would swallow them up, but if the king was in the wrong then this fate would befall him . . . ."
Mac Coitir, Niall. Ireland's Trees – Myths, Legends & Folklore: Myth, Legend and Folklore (p. 74). The Collins Press. Kindle Edition.
I feel the powerful prophecy reverberating. The poem is spacious and daunting. Thank you
Wow. Once again, so powerful. I do greatly admire your writing and your powerful story-telling! Yes, I am quite sure his fate will befall him.