The day dresses the wanting hopes
that flood across the barriers of time
and somewhere in the momentum of the day
Fills and takes the mind away
Upon a journey into the deep
where spirited the soul releases its hold
and gains the frontier of stories old.

It is here where the shades of time
cross the long ticking beats that run
the outstretched embrace lore,
Upon the gentle winds we come to adore.
Here stands the ancients in all their glory
The unwritten lines, the oral story
That drifts upon the subconscious mind
the myths and beliefs of what we find
Held upon the glimmer, the silent dream
That fills our want like a running stream.
I see the Celts, dressed rich in glory
The old Gael wielding within the holy
That sanctum of delicious folk tales
That flows upon our tongue like a wind in sails.

I hear the whisper upon the mire
The hidden dream, the long desire
That cries out upon the fate of man
the reassurance of the common hand
That reaches across fate to bear
us out where the night does share
every fiber of what within us flows
The story that unending knows
These roots from we spring.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph