The Wild Bard

Give me muddy bards, messy bards,
Bards who let the edges of their cloaks dangle
In the damp earth.
Bards who smile at storm clouds
And dance in the rain.
Bards who stink of woodsmoke
And the faint, musty smell
Of being out in the woods way too long.
Bards who stay out late under the sky
Until their fingers shiver,
Bards who howl at the moon
And look far away....

Give me bards who cannot stay put,
Bards who minstrel around the country,
Looking for nothing but finding everything.
Bards who sleep out under the stars
And make love under trees,
Bards who can never quite be tamed,
Bardsw with a wild spirit, wild eyes....

Bards who have something to tell,
Bards who have been to places you would never dare,
Bards who have stood in front of bulldozers
And dreamed in long barrows.
Give me a touch of the crazy
Above a touch of the comfortable
Any day.

Oh believe me,
I have a weakness for a cosy woodburner
And a soft blanket too.
But if mother nature is our muse,
Should we not dance with her,
Kiss her dirty face
And wade through her wild waters?
How much can we really speak of her
From our centrally-heated homes
And indoor soft bodies?
How I long to truly know my wildness,
To kiss the hag, dance with the dragon
And fear not the cold morning dew....