The waking green is stretching wide and slow Through mists where ancient builders used to go Beside the silent stones of granite grey The heavy leaves unfold to meet the day A tapestry of emerald, deep and bright With streaks of crimson in the pagan light. Down at the base the giants hold their ground In silent strength where the oldest truths are found But high above the crown begins its dance A violent grace in a wild and rhythmic trance While below the wing, the woodland birds descend We rise to where the sky and branches blend. High above the feathered flight Bathed in the vast and silver light The wind is singing through the hollow space Where the swaying timber finds its place Through the shifting veil where the spirits weave In the ancient breath that the branches leave. The Pale Sídhe rise from the heather floor Chanting the songs of the evermore One with the wood, the spirit, and the stone A thousand years in the marrow and the bone Feel the rush of air above the emerald sea The boundless soul of the sacred tree. High above the feathered flight Bathed in the vast and silver light The wind is singing through the hollow space Where the swaying timber finds its place Through the shifting veil where the spirits weave In the ancient breath that the branches leave. "The stones remain..." "The mist will rise..." "One with the height."
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