Describe not day, itīs made of clay
& only breaks to lay, but the way
free to attain universal freedom.
In mind beyond senses ascend,
where dream remembers & wakens
How sleep & wake were divided.
On the barren plains of Cairn Gorme,
where gone itīs woodland fen,
yet before them, what borders trampled
down the wild boar Caledonian?
Gift of Tongues
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perhaps it is my own celtic(irish) nature that draws me. perhaps it is my neo-christian/pagan soul that that recognises it enough to mourn.
Sage