The long day closes,
safe with moth and fox,
silent owl and timid badger.
I wait the sun, paths tripped
with roots as the soil shrinks,
leaching in the drought.
The wood a secret place.
If you believe in pixies do not go at night
to tread those toad-stool circles
that are of the Druids, ancient, long ago, ,
unknowable, a past on which we build deep
foundations, secure, an order we follow,
did we but know the truth
No message left, Romans saw to that
long before the Glastonbury legend.
Stone circles stand proud today
architecture tuned to nature,
not cold as Cathedrals' Gothic pride,
honest stone wrought from earth
not carved with maul and chisel.
John Rickell's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Druids by John Rickell )
- He Send Us (Nonet), Dorian Petersen Potter
- ANGELS ARE, Suzanna Christina Chevalier
- ANGELICA HUSTON, Suzanna Christina Chevalier
- Batman And Robin (Limerick), Dorian Petersen Potter
- Haiku- Sawdust, DEEPAK KUMAR PATTANAYAK
- ANGEL NUMBER 444, Suzanna Christina Chevalier
- ANGEL IS A WHITE SHIH TZU, Suzanna Christina Chevalier
- The Joker (Limerick), Dorian Petersen Potter
- Haiku- A coffin, DEEPAK KUMAR PATTANAYAK
- ANGEL MY NIECE, Suzanna Christina Chevalier
Poem of the Day
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
- Heather Burns
(22 March 1941 -)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)