The Cailleach at Imbolc

Rather like the legend of St Swithun's Day, there is an old Pagan story about the 1st of February, traditionally called "Imbolc", and here it is presented in a poem.

The Cailleach at Imbolc

I saw her, an old woman in a black shawl:
And there was swift silence, no bird call,
But all was still, a moment within time,
In which I watched her slowly climb,
The hill, shrouded in leafless trees;
After a mighty storm, the branches fell,
And even whole trees, so they do tell;
And she wonders, gathering firewood,
This old women, dark dress and hood;
And I remember the tales long told
Of Imbolc, kept in winter’s iron hold;
Of the Cailleach, and her gathering:
For it is now, at the very dawn of spring,
If she makes weather bright and good,
She will gather plenty of the firewood;
And the winter will last cold and long:
So I was told by druids in bardic song;
But if Imbolc weather is very foul,
She will be asleep, and never prowl:
That means winter is nearly done,
And we can welcome lambs and sun