Disturbed by what the Flame had shown
The vision he had sought to find
Now settled heavy on his mind
An ancient evil stood at hand
A shadow draped across the land
It waits in darkness, gaining strength
To scourge the land in breadth and length
But hope was seen within the fire
As smoke expelled the embers higher
Before the land grew dark and wild
The Druid had to find the Child
So deeper in the wood he drove
Toward the ancient Druid’s grove
Of towering Oak and whispering Pine
For further guidance he might find
On reaching the enchanted trees
He spoke a charm that none might see
His presence in the forest bleak
While further insight he would seek
Within the clearing set his shaft
And added branches fore and aft
The Hickory, Ash and Oak made three
To form the mystic Triskele
To this he added moss and spore
Taken from the forest floor
The Awen of the Child to find
A chant to open up his mind
With brazen voice he spoke the words
To pierce the mist, to yet be heard
And as the full moon’s zenith reached
He sought the Oracle to speak
“Oh, Ancient bane of mystery
Reveal the hidden Child to me
Between the peak and windswept wave
Where is the Child the land will save
“What sign, O, Ancient truth, reveal
Will guide my hand, his image seal
Imprint upon my heart to see
The child of the prophecy
“Which One upon this troubled Earth
Has felt the touch of special birth
Who, destined before time, employed
The coming Evil, to destroy”
The ancient Druid, Bard and Sage
Stood vigil while time’s passage raged
In silent trance he set his face
To know the secret, see the place
An eerie wind began to blow
A haze of light began to glow
The sparkling mist began to fly
Like diamonds spinning in the sky
He felt his body start to rise
The swirling lights, to blind his eyes
Within its grasp he fought for breath
It seemed he waged a war with death
And in the whirlwind’s blinding breeze
He saw with perfect clarity
A cottage with a floor of earth
A woman who travailed in birth
Alone she screamed against the pain
He heard the woman scream again
Until it seemed her strength would fail
He heard, at last, the baby’s wail
He saw the infant lying there
A Child born with ruddy hair
Upon his chest he bore a mark
That seemed to glow bright in the dark
The Druid gasped at what he saw
The pallid skin that seemed burned raw
For there upon the baby’s skin
A sign was left to number him
The Druid reached up to his cloak
The amulet hanging there to stroke
The secret sign alone he wore
The sign that now the child bore
The swirling maelstrom settled down
The mist withdrew, he touched the ground
The path was drawn, the way was clear
The Child he sought was very near
He gathered up his cloak and shaft
Released the charm that hid his craft
The image deep within his mind
The Druid left, the Child to find
By David Roth
© 13 September, 2002
Part Two of the Druid Cycle
