Birch at the Veil/ Beith (ᚁ) – Birch
In moon-pale forests where fae fawn run,
The birch stands first to greet the sun.
Her bark, like scrolls of palest fire,
Holds memories from the world entire.
She bends but never breaks in storm—
A mother’s grace, a dancer’s form.
She sheds the dark with bright flame,
And calls each soul to speak their name.
Her branches sweep the old year clean,
With twigs that lash yet do not scar.
These chase the frost from mortal being,
And open minds to things that are.
And in her wood, the fae reside—
In knots that blink like watchful eyes.
They mark her as the spirit’s guide,
The door where breath and shadow rise.
Come near her roots as summers ends,
When veils grow thin and thoughts run deep.
You’ll hear the footsteps of fae friends,
Whose secrets murmur through your sleep.
Her bark will flake, her branches gleam—
The ᚁ rune of Beithe shines through.
She leads the lost beyond the dream,
Where dawn is stitched from midnight’s hue.
She births the cradle, and feeds the funeral pyre—
She guards the dreamer’s step from ire.
Yet should you lie beneath her crown,
Prepare to rise… or be pulled down.
For birch is threshold, start and end,
A breath, a kiss, yet not quite friend.
The fae may bless, or cruelly curse—
Forever changed in better or worse.
WoPoLi 
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