Open book old photos took Of day's gone by on sacred brook. Who am I, who now stands nigh?

Oh, threaded tapestry of years gone by!

Looking out beyond the sea, I see what things forgotten be.

Blood from distant shores run deep Thru time and space to haunt and steep, From myth and legends dragons keep To modern cities' pavin' street.

I seek a glimpse into the past To grasp a thread of totem's taps, To find a hope for future task, To bring forth something Hallowed from ancient's path.

I feel the chill of blood bound kings, Whose eyes held carnage in their rings; Filled with vendetta's bitter tree Choked with violent aristocracy.

I see my tree with arms held high In reverent homage to the Sky; Yet roots belie another tie To cursed brothers under cry.

Welsh, Scot and Yorkshire too From which a royal ransom due Of devils' lot genetic brew. And let it not be forgotten, The blood of those ill begotten Across the way no dowry paid On Emerald Isles in long gone days.

Come low now, Holy Church on high And place your hand upon my thigh, A new world order we decry With bread and wine - a scepters prize, Of Holy King but crucified. Unite the kingdoms to empire And rule the world with smoke and fire.

See then, oh valiant man of pride, On four horses you did ride, For unholy heaven's suicide And bleed the world with homicide.

Is this the hope that we belie To reap a crop of genocide, Swear an oath to sword and king, Fall and bend and break and glean, Turn blind eye to heart and queen, And mask a truth as yet unseen?

Yet this was not the only path

That holds a key in memories sap. Beneath the ancient canopy Is yet another mystery. Look deeply now to nest and hallow, Alight thou freely thru vines and follow; For there is much more still to swallow. There is story yet untold Of old forgotten sacred grove.

And In the leaves of every tree Is told a tail not quit perceive. Of valiant love of common law And freedom from the tyrant's claw Of hopes and dreams of harmony That walked upon the gallant breeze.

Frosted morning silent lake, Witches' brew on beaded slate; Beneath are passions poised to wake Far below the waters quake.

Who is this lady tied to me Dwelled once beyond the sea, In lore of magic's mystery? This lady of the lake Whom church bells did forsake Loclynn my blood to Sabat's pride Below blue water she didst hide. Beneath Loclynn's solemn tide

Lay the sword that kings did prize.

Dance around the old grove tree, Passions unfurl in ecstasy, Old dark rituals do unfold A well worn tattered magic bone Divine the future yet unknown Cast forth the druids' talking stone.

Look deeply inward to root's desire Where passion burns with Emerald fire And touch your soul to cloven shores Of ancient goddess Eire.

There cast your gaze To westward sea Were sun leads moon In night's dark mystery. Redes and spells cast from wand's tip Stuck with pitch on hidden lip Written with cryptic twigs and thickets Of willow wisps and metered snippets.

All this to find From time to time in palatines And children's rhythms, The mystery opened from the shelf In tales of dwarf and elf.

Kinsmen now your lore did bring This song with hope alive to sing; 'Oh summer land, Oh summer land, Oh home of long stretched soul, To summer land, to summer land To you I will one day go.'

Blood is the passage of life thru time, The sap that feeds the generation's vine. For now I stand on western lore Land of dreams on furthest shore Hatred and virtue like grains of sand Have loosely fallen from my hand.

I close my eyes and try to see A world less filled with vanity. Where fairies sit on mossy thrones Beneath the hanging willow's tome. And every passer by that skips Must stop and grace them with a kiss.

Such is fancy I do admit, But nonetheless they could exist, For thru the course they've made the trip Upon the harps of children's lips.