Listening to the Light

And when I came to the place where the old oaks grow
I knew why men had worshiped the trees
Understanding older than the oak grew in me of the old ways
For I had breathed in the belly of the stone when stone was not
Had grown in the core of the oak
Before the thorn of the wild rose tore me.
The leap of the hare was in my feet,
Hornet wing, hornet sting were my hope and faith
And when I sang, the raven’s call floated from my beak–
The wisdom of the ages from the mouth of sage and seer is not lost
But hidden… where water wears down rock
The hills hold, the cougar slows, all things rest and are right

Where the trees speak the light.

 

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Celtic History of Druids

Brief History of Druidry