By Peter Nash
Take my hand, walk with me
Through leafy woodland carpet
Hear the wind in the beeches
Singing accapella, moving the garlands in our hair
A natural symphony, toying with our senses
Standing with reverence at the sacred site.
Face, you and I, the Druid Priest
A grove of oaks his chapel
The voices in the trees his bible
Beltane flowers his congregation
Uniting! Yea, uniting, you and I
'Neath, tree-filtered sunlight.
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