Sunday, 8 March 2009


If the wild wood way you would come to learn

Step into the forest and call on Herne

Three times loud and three times clear

Then wait for a sign that Herne is near

A shower of leaves though there is no breeze

Could be a message from the Lord of the trees

And where two oaks stand tall and strong

The creak of the bark is the sound of his song

And there overhead a bare branched bough

Could be the God of the antlered brow

Though darkness falls early and the forest seems dead

The rustle of bracken is his soft booted tread

And we know he is here for he smells of the earth

As he carefully plants the seeds of all birth

The cry of the wind is the sound of his horn

For he masters the wild hunt and they ride out at dawn

And the rustle of leaves is the sound of his mirth

For he champions the Lady and they nurture the Earth.

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