I enter as solicitor into the breech, I
shimmy through a spinney of oak and beech, I
smolder I stutter-step hillside-bound, I
worship at a cromlech with reverent sound, aye.
I revel in primeval heresies hailed, I
peel away pretense brandish what’s veiled, I
quest for veracity, from all whom would speak, I
seek rectitude for the shunned and the weak, aye.
I trip down footpaths long over-grown, I
convulse on the altar of rain-etched stone, I
gasp at the lightning in the night-bird sky, I
ken to the eidola of eons wild, aye.
I rove companionless as streams flow past, I
quaff their waters my drought to cast, I
taste aged mosses and sod underfoot, I
mingle with the mysteries of the twilight wood, aye.
I relinquish these boots, this crown, this shame, I
breathe malcontent extrication exclaimed, I
move to recompense my lady, my land, I
make an invocation to all women and men, aye.
I present to the heavens my chest, my face, I
plea for forgiveness of my race, I
burn from the fire and bruise from the stone, I
writhe hands and knees past a gauntlet thrown, aye.
I return to the hearth to the village I adore, I
rush along the promenade a warrior born, I
recite the story to the curious child, I
thrill and fulfill her or render him riled, aye.