Dream of the Rood So! I will sing the sweetest dream, that made its mode in the middle night while beer-swillers belched on benches, Syllicre trēow, the truest of trees, gilded, gifted, with gems embedded. “The Lord of Heaven leapt to my limbs to forgive your guilt by giving his life.” Lifted in air, laved in its light, it had five jewels enjambed in its tree-gum. This came in sleep to a sorrowful soul swimming in sin, stained dark by evil. When the Master motions, miracles happen. On Good Friday, gravest of feast days, I crawl…
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