The Last Druid

I gaze at the stars
by the great dying oak,
to the realm of the gods
I am no longer lost

in the gathering of night
on raven wings I glide
to the three far worlds
of land sea and sky.

the ancient white owl
and voices from the wells
of sun, moon and stars
The ergot- trance -tells

in soothless disdain,
in the cauldron of Awen
adder stones awaken
and dream weaver thread


In the chamber of the grave
I must soon take my leave
I am the last of my kind
and who would believe

of the great lord Arthur
the dark Avalon wolf
who fought and was slain
enchanted to the end

Bewitched by the lake
of dusk coated raven,
by the grove of tall oaks
and viper shaman
to ride on the black swan,
to the tor of Avalon
to rest above all men
great dragon of Albion.