To the Earl of Ross

I might have come, once, in a cloak
of birdfeathers, on a par with druids:
your judge, genealogist and historian -
with hundreds of tales to enchant you,
after an apprenticeship long and hard -

had it continued: the age of the bards.

We could have journeyed under the lake
freed from time, resting on the roots
of Inisdara as kingfishers had their say.
I would have interviewed the golden rain
and the golden handkerchief trees -

for some backup to my prophecies,

recognizing the motifs and themes.
You would have had to ignore my gender
when I illumined you with manuscripts
and teased your ancestral weight -
...