Rollrights at the summer solstice 1

A heavily wooded shady lane
A rusty gate to where
A path looks down on Chipping Norton
A hillock green and fair
The rollright stones
From neolithic times
Rest peacefully
Where A labyrinth and brilliant light
Is there for all to see

Might there have been a garrison
Of the kings men in their prime
Who came upon a wicked witch
Who posed to them in rhyme
Not far away Long Compton
Famed for its witchery
Where Oxford stone and fine old thatch
Was Created magically

A tIme of transformation
And nurturing perhaps
In the spirit of the celtic oak
Perhaps these kingly chaps
Would not turn back
And they became the stones
That we now see
Encircled and considered
For an eternity

The sun god represented
At the high point in the sky
From the driest seeds to the greenest
Shoots
To groves as we pass by
Resplendent glossy and vital leaves
Tinged with gold and red
Fertility the likelihood
Where some may raise their head

And look across the silent hills
Where buttercup and chrome
Where sulphur mustard and sallow
On these paths may roam
Dandelion and cadmium yellow
Marigold and tangerine
Colours bold and inviting
Enhancing the summer scene

In the circle we have ritual
Druids cloaked in white and green
We taste the heat of honey mead
Below the moles have been
Peculiarly busy
Turning over mounds
Dancing in the muddy bowels
And doing the rounds

Everywhere its summery
Solar colours shine
The magic down the ages
Everytime is mine
The dry stone wall to Compton
The druidic world of tree
Seventh amongst the thirteen months
Where it needs to be

The ancient ones have always
Preached under this mighty tree
As such pursuits will always be
Strong and secure continuously
Uprightness and morality
A day to remember extraordinarily
And a noble regard
For the work of the bard
Who recites his words poetically.