The Old OnesA Poem by David Lewis PagetThere
are places in the country where No
people show their face, There
are warrens, there are spinneys There
are copses beyond trace, There
are thickets and some groves wherein The
old religion stays, Left
behind by Priests and Druids To
remind us of their days. And
a lurking spirit watches Through
the branches of the trees, Since
the time the Roman soldiers Brought
the Druids to their knees, While
the northern gods are hidden In
their days within the week, Sulking
through the groves and hedgerows Where
at night, you’ll hear them speak. When
the wind is loosed in fury by The
witches of the north, With
the topmost branches swaying You
will hear them when they talk, Though
their speech is none too pretty They
might howl and weep or wail, For
the lost days of their glory When
they ruled this misty vale. Then
they’ll rage across the country Carried
howling on the wind, While
Thor will raise his hammer Bringing
thunder to the glen, He’ll
return with Tiw and Woden To
the spinneys and the copse, To
await the day that Odin Burns
the world with Ragnarok! David
Lewis Paget © 2013 David Lewis PagetFeatured Review
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