Kate Rose na Gael

The secret tale of

Kate Rose na Gael!

In a lowly hut of ancient Éire, dim with shadows cast,
A storyteller by the fire speaks of tales long past.
Smoke drifts beneath the rafters high, as sheep lie soft and still,
While farmers, mothers, children, sit, enraptured by his skill.

The winter’s storm beyond the door doth howl and cry and wail,
But here within, all hearts are warmed by light and whispered tale.

Hear ye, good folk,” he began with whispery voice, a glimpse of knowing in his bright eyes,
Weaving tales of days long past, of spirits and their ancient ties.
All hung, spellbound, upon his every word,
"Hear what I bring to your ear, tales from aeons unheard.”

In days of old, when Éire lay in shadows wild and deep,
With hills that whispered secrets and rivers dark as sleep,
There rose a tale of legend, of maid fair as dawn’s first light,
Whose fiery locks burned bright as flame, in storm and ancient night.

Kate Rose na Gael was known, her name a breath, a song,
A spirit fierce, a heart untamed, in tales both true and long.
Her hair, like fire’s fury, blazed, as sun upon the tide,
Where waves did meet the endless sky and stars in silence bide.
In village high upon the cliffs, ‘neath winds that cut like glass,
Where seabirds wheeled and selkies sang, her form would often pass.
The folk beheld her grace with awe, her beauty rare and wild,
For though her heart bore countless woes, her gaze was ever mild.

To she the lost ones wandered near, to she the weak ones came,
And at her hand their sorrows fell, their hearts did bear her name.
Yet heavy grew the stones she bore, as years rolled ever on,
The folk forgot her kindness dear, as though ‘twere owed, not won.

Then on a night of thunder’s wail, when stars did hide their face,
There came a crone with raven’s cloak, as old as time and space.
The Morrigan, dark queen of fate, with voice like north wind’s chill,
Did ask her why her shoulders bowed, why she alone bore ill.

"Why dost thou carry others’ stones, yet leave thine own heart bare?”
The maid of Rose na Gael replied, her voice as soft as prayer:
“’Tis but my place to lighten hearts, to take what others shed;
For in their peace my purpose lies, though weariness I wed.”

The Morrigan, with eyes aflame, did lift her voice once more:
“There is wisdom in thy gentle heart, yet folly, fierce and sore.
For every soul must know its strength, each heart must bear its own;
Else strength shall fade as day’s last light and leave thee cold as stone.”

With that, she placed a burden there, a stone both dark and vast,
And told her to the cliff to walk and to the ocean cast.
“Take this, ye child of Rose na Gael, to where the waves roar,
And cast it from thy shoulders wide, and bear this weight no more.”

Through shadows deep and forests dark, o’er hills and crags of stone,
She walked unto the edge of night, to free her heart alone.
With winds that screamed like banshees lost, she stood above the sea,
And raised the weight above her head, and cast it—bold and free.

The stone fell deep, the sea did roar, the waves did rise and swell,
And with its plunge, her spirit soared, from sorrow’s grasp she fell.
The Morrigan, from shadow stepped, a smile upon her face,
“Ye have done well, O maid of flame, ye’ve found thy spirit’s grace.”

In days of old, when Éire lay in shadow wild and deep,
With hills that whispered secrets, and rivers dark as sleep,
The tale of she of Kate Rose na Gael was told with bated breath,
A story grand of burden’s end, and life reclaimed from death.

And thus, the tale of Kate Rose na Gael did pass from age to age,
By hearth and fire in voices low, by lore-men and by sage.
For even now, in shadowed woods, when night is cold and pale,
The mothers tell their daughters still, the tale of Kate Rose na Gael.

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