Marshmallow Moon

It was the spring of 1962 and there was quite a good breeze coming from the ocean side. Rebecka leaned against a large stone and thought of her William. She thought of their last evening when she leaned back in his arms as he rested on the same old rock.

She asked him,"William...what is love?" He kissed her cheek, stroked her reddish brown hair and softly said,"Love is the light of that old marshmallow moon...it covers your body with sweetness...it chases the night from your skin."

Rebecka giggled and said,"Now William...are you trying to seduce me with poetic whispers?" He put his hands on her bare shoulders and said,"Irish women...always dancing over a man's well meant words." She pinched him on the leg...leaned back against him and said,"Carry on then..I shall not interrupt my lord again."

William kissed her shoulder and said,"Where was I....oh yes..the marshmallow moon light is the sweetness of love....the stars are the kisses and the winds are the hands." He kissed her shoulder again and whispered in her ear,"The ocean is the voice of love...crashing into the shores....asking your heart....tell me your desires"...

Rebecka melted in his arms and softly said,"I do so love you...my William McLorden." They saw the ferry boat heading for Dingle and knew it was time to go home. That was the last night that 15 year old Rebecka would see her William. He kissed her goodbye by the gate of the old farm house and sailed off the next day. Her father had told her about the iceberg that took down the Kerry and her crew. Rebecka only smiled and told her father not to worry.

Rebecka would walk up the path to the cliff on every night there was a bright moon. She would stand a few feet from the edge...unbutton her dress...pull it apart and shout these words across the dark ocean.

William...my lovely William
Let the marshmallow moon light
Sweeten my soul
Kiss me with your stars
Let the wind be your hands
Touch me my William
Send me the waves of your whispers
Love me sweet William...love me

She would sway and sing...not words...beautiful moans of pleasure. Her dress would dance in the wind behind her...it was like the ghost of William Mclorden was making love to Rebecka. Even in the winter months...Rebecka would stand at the edge of the cliff...unbutton her long gray coat and reveal herself to the night.

Rebecka wouldn't live to see her 18th birthday. Pneumonia took her young life in the winter of 1964. You might think this is a bit of a tall tale but ask the sailors who come towards Ireland in the night of a full moon. Ask an Irish girl if she can feel the sweetness of the moonlight in her soul when she waits for the one she loves.

A beautiful girl waits on the cliffs with her arms spread wide...singing to the sea...singing to sweet William McLorden. A faint scent of marshmallows passes in a breeze.

As two Irish lovers hold love in their hands
The wind, skies and oceans make love to the lands.