Were these wild wild winds Bridgets Lament?
For the desecration of her native land
Where for thirty pieces of silver sold
Was her childrens future by a charlatans hand.
Were these wild winds her anguished cries
For her heritage lost her land had long worn
As jewels on her dress: the landscape
That through greed of man rough from with threads was shorn?
Was it her breath that sent thundering waves
The strong winds that brought down Birr’s Poplar Tree
One among many casualties of the Seasons rage
That uncovered an ancient forest from beneath the sea?
So long drowned, not even the hand of man
Could hide the existence of what he never knew
Perhaps that is the message she sends to us today:
For is that not what Saint Goddesses do?