Oak and mistletoe

| Poem about a stone circle

Cold to touch, yet warm it feels.
High above, impossible to fathom.
Nine in number, standing tall.
Quartz and granite, darkness and light.

Eternal memories, ancient blood.
Honouring the gods, long since forgotten.
Celestial temples, solar aligned.
Energy beyond our wildest imagination.

Barefoot, wearing white robes.
Carrying Oak and mistletoe.
Forever there, hidden through the years.
The Druids have returned.
Hail Briggantia.