The Rooks are Calling

 

Shrill noises booming out from overhead,

From the black shadows flying around,

Carrying on the summer solstice’s winds,

Seemingly amplifying this ancient sound.

 

The rooks are calling me back to the past,

Times of natural forces surrounding us,

Druids using the earth’s power to heal pain,

Release the forces which were pounding us.

 

Circles of stone had more power than gods,

Divinity shone down with virtuous heat,

Warming the spirits of every living being,

Giving us life that never tasted as sweet.

 

The land of milk and honey was under foot,

Running as smoothly as a grand time piece,

The sun and moon past through like clockwork,

Giving the world their free energy release.

 

The piercing yet strangely enjoyable sound,

Alive with superstition from mystical times,

Linking me to priests of ancient knowledge,

Giving out sage judgement to historic crimes.

 

Running along lay lines of the Celtic landscape,

From the snowy highlands to boggy lowlands,

These calls link all people like you and me,

To our ancestors living in time’s flowing sands.

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