In gear dagas, the days of old
the Aelmihtiga created the forest
The hawhtorn, the oak, the beech.
Elder druids performed their rituals
honouring these 'men who walked'.
The pitter patter of the rain
falling upon the 'grene leves'
was the music of the trees
that the Fairie Queen shed her
tears in harmony.
These haunting shadows
lurching boughs
played to natures whimsical tune
and thrived on her gusty breath.
Runic symbols etched deeply into
full bellied trunks who thrust
man into the arms of saplings
The hollow Ash sighed,
I am wet with the blood of new life
Saxon Mothers smoothed their babes
with Hazel oil beseeching,
Protect this child from enchantment
that he may grow as tall
as the forest trees
and stand in full creation.
Like mystical prophets,
the trees knots of time
whispered obscure languages
among the wind, the heavens
and finally to the child.
And so it was known when he left this world
both forest and Saxon would chant the prayer,
Fęder ūre žū že eart on heofonum,
Sī žīn nama ġehālgod.
Tōbecume žīn rīċe
ġewurže žīn willa, on eoršan swā swā on heofonum.
Ūre ġedęġhwāmlīcan hlāf syle ūs tō dęġ,
and forgyf ūs ūre gyltas, swā swā wē forgyfaš ūrum gyltendum.
And ne ġelǣd žū ūs on costnunge, ac ālȳs ūs of yfele.
Sōžlīċe.
Only then could his warrior bones
be unearthed from the autumn forest floor
revealing his flesh as the texture
of natures own workmanship.
Neolithic minds sowed spells
and amulets at the roots of the tree.
God acceded man would be
protected from the mistage moras
that swirled like the fabric of death
across the moors
and over their tribal burial ground.
Listen! You can still hear the sacred rites
rustle through the leaves of our ancestors
And once fallen, their gnarled, distorted legs
stick awkwardly in the air
to expose the true price of
modern man's material dwelling.
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