Yes, it’s nearly May Day, aka Beltane, Beltaine, Bealtan, and a range of other spellings and pronunciations. And that means I had to produce another song. Ironically, this is the first one that I wrote in the series, which now includes other songs based on the town where I live, Goshen Oimelc, Goshen Yule, and Goshen Ostara. As I get more skilled and clear about how to present these, a friend of mine pointed out that it’s better if I sing them, it’s better if I give readers the words, and it’s better if there’s not a lot of harmonization. So, I made the video to try to match all those conditions.

Goshen Maying

1. Come up to the (farm), help us search for the pole,     
Tie on the ribbons, and dig out the hole;
There’s food to be eaten and dances to run,
Laughter and joking and all sorts of fun!
A bottle of ale might get passed hand to hand,
And couples sneak off for a roll on the land.
Never can tell what happens the day,
That all of the Berkshires call in the May. 

2. Get that shaft up, help it reach for the sky,
Plant it in mud where the sleeping seeds lie,
All of the grown-ups will smirk and they’ll smile,
Winking at secrets they’ve known for a while; 
And every bright ribbon’s the hue of a flower,
Fluttering wide as the wind shows its power.
Never can tell what happens the day,
That all of the Berkshires call in the May. 

3. Stretch out the ribbons the length of your pole
And add half again so the dance is made whole.
But don’t double up or the dance lasts too long,
And the band will grow weary of tune and of song. 
Half dance by the Sun, half by widdershins ‘round,
And bring the new warmth down deep into the ground! 
Never can tell what happens the day
That all of the Berkshires call in the May.

4. The thorn bush can hardly remember the rose,
And Daffodils shook off the last of the snows
Sometime last week ere the weather was clear, 
There’s been no birds singing at least half a year
The sugarings done, and the maples are red, 
And all of the robins are happily wed!
never can tell what happens the day
That all of the Berkshires call in the May. 

5. There’s hardly a leaf on the birch or the oak,
Calling this spring is a jest or a joke —
It’s ice-cold at dawn and by dusk it’s like fall, 
It’s hard to believe it is spring time at all;
But noon is as hot as a youth in their prime,
Shot by a dart of sweet Cupid divine— 
Never can tell what happens the day
That all of the Berkshires call in the May

If you felt like contributing something to encourage me to write more such songs, I’d appreciate that you bought me a drink through my account on Ko-Fi.com.

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