Mighty Oak


Mighty Oak open its arms
Golden leaves tingle on the song of Psalms
The circle is close and strong
Come, ye!
Come sit among the Pens at our Circle.

There sits our Mighty Inspiration
Silvery blue shimmering
The one with prose
In his bones
With feeling
Within his skin
Life sustained for his Kin.

Yonder is heard the swish of careful movement
Tall grass slowly separating
‘tis only by a morrow
That Our Song will be heard
Carried by the breeze
Climbing with the push of the wind
Far along
The Dark Spaces of time.

It will return the Star Song
Far stronger than before
Touching those in need
It will come to rest
At the Sacred Circle
To once again,
Be the bones of our Pens.

Thus our Song is never ending
It is forever yielding
Where there is a yearning
The Pens will be their Kin.

Hélène Vaillant © – Poetry

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