If not to touch the earth
and know your sun kissed skin,
if not to chase your shadow
through every place you've been.
If not to stand on mountains,
howling from the peaks,
if not to lie in fields
as melodic whispers weep.
If not to dance in forests
where tangled roots take hold,
if not to bathe in oceans
while eternities unfold.
If not to touch the earth,
upon me you would shine
and for that fleeting moment
I could call you mine.
The raven is my eye in the sky
Swift and stealthy,
She cuts through the clouds
Her song rings in premonitions
Forewarning and foreshadowing
Any luck or omen that might meet me
The wolf and her pack are my ears
Listening for the buzzing in the forest
Striding through the leaves with discipline
She knows by the look in her eyes
By the fierce smile and sharp teeth
That she has my respect, and we are the same.
He walks in stolid darknesses
At days zenith, hears whispers
In the dew dusted fens, lights
Leaves into sun candle flames,
Drew a lake sword by maidens
Hand, alchemic shaper of water,
Air, old fires and earth, bending
Cold elements of moly and lode
Rushing forth, in extra emotions.
Bright sunny days and cool nights we wake beside the fires light and to the tweet of the twite. we give a prayer for the day to go right. And for the plight of our ancestors. Whom we raise stones to celebrate. But who will know these rites if we don't tell? Aside from those who Dawn all white?
Is it true that the Bard spirit Never Dies yes, yes, yes, Lord yes! The Bard cries other people's tears. The Bard wears other people's fears. The Bard gives abundant cheers. The bard masters the Lyre and plays the music of the Spheres. The Bard writes heavenly and perseveres knowing when they die they're soul reappears.
The flight and call of the birds imbues us with the future. Our past comes from a well. The present lies in a river. Our elders are now gone in crumbling stone. If the bough of the Oak is as wide as 3 men all boundaries can be broken and our souls can pass on.