My mind travels sometimes To the ancient trackways across the land; The furrows that unfurl the past, And lead to the soft pathed hills streaked with moss and fern.
I imagine the many feet that have trod The paths to shrine, stones, and wells And the deep memories they share; The streams of wisdom flow on now, in silence Knowledge runs green against the whispering sky.
The clues are there in the landscape, should you wish to hear The rushing wisdoms that echo across deep lanes and green trees.
Listen for my whisper in the quiet lanes And I'll guide you where the ancient footsteps lead To the sacred places that lie still and quiet in the land