The Soul’s Remembering

May the willow weave with the spider

the web between the worlds.

One thread over a thousand miles.

The silver arch of the moon.

A butterfly green in a wood of pearls,

Heaven’s light in the depth of a pool.

The stile stands over another brook

where the salmon talks soft to the lark.

The swallow glides and he nips the wasp

that scatters the smoke from the fire.

The fire beneath the cauldron

burns like the sword in a heart

and at night when I sleep, all the dreams of the deep

float away on the waves of my life.

The field on the hill grows the seeds of all will

and my eyes are so full of their love.

The cider she makes from the apples that fall

‘neath the trees ‘long the river at Rye

gives the feeling that one is forever young

and that witches can fly all night long.

My fingers to heaven they draw down the moon

and the crystal begins to glow.

Please grant me the visions of true love and colour

that NEVER again will my dear soul forget!