They could 'rune' about, the circle or a twig, of any tree, or any stone at all, to know the nature of its kind. They might change into the heart of any creature, just by...'making up their mind'.
They marked the moments of the sun, the moon, alignaments of shadow and of lume. They kept the secret ways of 'seed', of 'pick'ling's and brew, inviting no man, but to taste the thing.
They healed by touch, or sound of song, and word, and found their way, by 'ley', from home to home. They were not to be equaled.
For, in those days, amid those forests deep, were men, enchanted as of gods...great 'magic's' wielded they, and wove...
from words of poetry!.
Written by Bruce James Clyde, at Deming, New Mexico
Art: in the druid grove, pinterest
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