Red-gold with healing hands I call you,
bringer of heat and brightness,
raising us from our own ashes,
rekindling our incandescent strength.
Red-gold in your lover's arms I call you,
sweet fire and wild honey,
the blazing noontime of your tongue,
the sun-warmed grasses in summer, the awakening.
Red-gold at the forge I call you,
hammering out souls and bodies of the living,
muscled arms raised high,
blacksmith of our being, our bone and breath.
Three times,
by three names
I call you.
Come, Brigid, come!