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Herne   1994
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Misty fingers wrap themselves
Round gnarled old tree-boles, twisted roots
The know the turning of the days
Each cloak of snow, of soft brown leaves
He comes again to beloved ground
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Lifetimes pass like the butterfly
Fluttering ephemeron, still he stands
In sacred weald, the Horn'ed One
May he protect us and our kin
And we, in our turn, he
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Streams of sunlight mottle blossom
Idyll standing, hallowed temple
And on the hill glimpsed through the leaves
The sarsens dance their timeless ring
Bowing ageless to the sun
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And now the faery ones approach
To sup and sing in sacred grove
Which pleases Herne on misty knoll
They bless him well and he protects
His favours on him, he bestows
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But now in nameless, ragged copse
Surrounded and wounded by the death
Of loveliness and sculpted hill
Of sarsen buried, burned and broke
Of faery folk no longer singing
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The time of Chaos fast draws near
The Watcher hangs from deathly tree
The Horn'ed One retreats alone
To ponder greater loss than this
As Mother Earth dies dark and deep
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So warnings grave do I bestow
Of hollow silent deadly knells
The Hunter, Herne, The Horn'ed One
Protects us only as we care
Hurt you all, and feel the fear!
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(c) 1994 James McGowan  - all rights reserved
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