I am midwinter, indigo and gold,
as silent as the field they found me in.
A creature, forged from straw, from tales of old.
An ergot-sickened phantom, bred from mould.
I feel the haystack stubble scratch my skin.
I am midwinter, indigo and gold.
On darkened days, no spade can break the cold
of frozen earth, so folk find fealty in
a creature, forged from straw, from tales of old.
If harvests fail then men must grow more bold,
set fire to stars to cleanse all of our sins.
I am midwinter, indigo and gold.
I cannot grieve my human form. I’m told
it’s time for me to benefit my kin.
A creature, forged from straw, from tales of old.
Am I a sacrifice, as was foretold?
A constellation, cloaked in straw bear skin?
I am midwinter, indigo and gold,
a creature, forged from straw, from tales of old.
LM
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| Image via strawbear.org.uk |
The Whittlesey Straw Bear Festival takes place every winter, and involves a straw bear dancing through the streets of the town, before being burned on a bonfire. There are those who believe this tradition is an ancient ritual to ensure a good harvest for the year ahead.
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