Bridget

In which I wrote a poem inspired by a painting in the Kelvingrove Museum in Glasgow.

Bridget is walking beneath the trees
because spring has come.
The small birds flying around her head
burst into song.

As she passes, the roses bloom,
the pink dog roses that nod and sway
as the wind brings the scent of the sea
blowing this way.

Around her hem the children dance,
holding hands in a ring,
as wild and glad and innocent
as lambs in spring.

Bridget, my lovely,
your head is perpetually
crowned with woodland flowers:
bluebells, foxgloves, and columbines,
primroses, cowslips, the dusky velvet
of violets, white stars of anemones
and sunny celandines,
bobbing their blossoms around your sweet face
as you walk through the world while the small birds sing
and the children dance in a laughing ring
because you are the spirit of wonderful spring,
gone too soon but always returning
when we most long for you,
albeit too briefly,
Bridget.

(The image is The Coming of Bride by John Duncan.)

This poem was originally published on my poetry blog, here: “Bridget” by Theodora Goss