Let the forest make our ring
\nSentinels of time that bring
\nAn ebullience home to passers by
\nThe impressionable the romantics
\nWhy?
\nDo robed souls find the need to go
\nInto the forest, I dont know
\nRituals on a winters day
\nIMbolc in milk the lambs do play<\/p>\n
Holding hands each meditation
\nA consciousness a celebration
\nAn owl hoots and a bat may fly
\nThe light descends and with a sigh
\nI lose myself in what is gloom
\nAnd possibly one day my tomb
\nMaybe under all their feet
\nIn the box where maggots eat<\/p>\n
What flesh is left from off my bones
\nWith nobody to hear my groans
\nAbove, the women I loved so
\nIn the arms of her chosen beau
\nAnd me now rotting down below
\nIf I could only really know
\nShe was in love with him then I
\nWould be glad my will had not passed her by<\/p>\n
That it gave her collateral and some grace
\nIf only I could see her face
\nBut all I hope that his heart is true
\nAnd the money i gave was helpful to
\nHer in life, and her son who
\nGained independence his life through
\nI came to earth and saw her face
\nAnd now am lost without a trace<\/p>\n
No headstone just a plastic sack
\nIn the forest one thick black
\nGarden sack wrapping around
\nA bag of bones under the ground<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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 … Continue reading