The Druid's Lament
based on Christian hymns
As life became a starry tomb,
pinpoints of light above,
how holy was the virgin's womb,
the journeys of the dove?
Does myth collapse like old fetters
before the fact of death?
When Charlemagne came with letters
and swords to tame the Celtic breath.
When "Christianise" meant something grand,
when blood was soon forgot.
Do Druids have souls, God's right hand
encompassing or not?
From Joseph's staff there came a tree,
on pagan mud a church
was built in worship and in glee:
the old religion stripped like birch.
The stone circles are honoured now,
preserved and toured where once
they may have seemed a lowly sow:
a sacrificial dunce.
What avenues to holiness
were lost in holy purge?
The answer waits in endlessness,
where souls greet and converge.