Britaine

Deep green air
Golden aether
Dark undergrown garden
This imagination disdained and enlivened
We were forest walkers
Autumn crisp leaf breakers
We found some mystery in the winter
Hidden in hollow trunks
We joined hands
Willow wicker branches bowed
We created fire in mirrors
Crowned within an identity unstable
Animalistic raw chorus
Untimely death facers
Historicals
Spinning and whirling
String quartets
Misty fields collapsing
Britaine was falling
Lost in frenz
The wind would beat
I used to hear it howl in the woods
Britaine is falling
We still stand in our early years
And listen to the earth
For a while
Then return to family fires
And wear thin
Over anger of those passed
It is then I will weep
And escape again
To throw salt on fires
With wolves and thin limbs
Ready to curl up and freeze
To never wake in the morning
To never again remember that once
When we were in our early years
Britaine was falling.