Group Prayer to Manannán mac Lir

Who is it whom we see?
We see a man with silver hair, with silver beard, flecked with salt foam.
We see a man in a cloak of no colors, or is it of every color?
When it moves, it hides and reveals; sometimes things show through it,
sometimes they ripple as if on their surface,
sometimes they fade softly at their edges, as if imprinted on fog.
We see a man holding an apple branch:
its fruit is golden, and rings like bells when he shakes it.
And its golden-toned music soothes us, would sing us to sleep if we listened to it for long.
But he shakes the branch and the apples sound just until we hear it,
and leaves an ache in our hearts when its echoes fade.
We see a man who drives a chariot without reins.
His horses ride sure-footed, wave-maned across the sea,
which seems a flowered plain beneath the turning, diamond-flashing wheels.
We see a man who is alternately too bright for our eyes to bear,
and then compassionate in his gaze.
We see this man. Whom is it we see?
That's easy — we see Manannán, a guide to those on journeys,
who shows the way where there are no tracks;
We see a comforter who smoothes away memories that rot the heart.
We see Manannán mac Lir,
Comforter and Guide,
Son of the Sea.