John Rickell

(I November 1931 / York)

Druids


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.



Submitted: Wednesday, February 19, 2014

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  • Karen Sinclair (2/20/2014 3:43:00 AM)

    Wonderfully reminiscent I feel this so much. Churches have never been as welcoming as the stone circles. So much more instinctual and comforting church buildings just feel dark and conspicuous I think id love a pagan church built of trees unshaped just as they come. Hidden in a glad of bluebells and heather. That would be my heaven. (Report) Reply

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