A Ritual drama

Let the forest make our ring
Sentinels of time that bring
An ebullience home to passers by
The impressionable the romantics
Why?
Do robed souls find the need to go
Into the forest, I dont know
Rituals on a winters day
IMbolc in milk the lambs do play

Holding hands each meditation
A consciousness a celebration
An owl hoots and a bat may fly
The light descends and with a sigh
I lose myself in what is gloom
And possibly one day my tomb
Maybe under all their feet
In the box where maggots eat

What flesh is left from off my bones
With nobody to hear my groans
Above, the women I loved so
In the arms of her chosen beau
And me now rotting down below
If I could only really know
She was in love with him then I
Would be glad my will had not passed her by

That it gave her collateral and some grace
If only I could see her face
But all I hope that his heart is true
And the money i gave was helpful to
Her in life, and her son who
Gained independence his life through
I came to earth and saw her face
And now am lost without a trace

No headstone just a plastic sack
In the forest one thick black
Garden sack wrapping around
A bag of bones under the ground