Parts of the Past
In the land of the Emerald Isle,
Lived a discreet little group out about one mile.
Those Druids circled round in families so tight
Teaching the children the ways of the night
They all came together every once in awhile
To celebrate their ancestry and drink from the vile.
On that green hill, a circle of rocks to honor the Sun
Stood the high priestess; the Ceremony was done.
Encircled from view by a protective shield
The invisible land holds powers to wield
Like Avalon, it’s held and sheltered from view
But only to keep others from drinking the dew.
Long before the Catholic came to their land,
Their ways were establish and perfected by hand.
Run out of that green land, then wiped off the Earth,
They were thought to be dead, but never stopped was their birth.
In this day, no more do their rituals perform
For throughout the nations these people now conform.
Blended into society they come and go,
But on some days remember their ancestor’s foe.
In me now, I have found I am one
A descendent of those people I know I should shun.
My family is Christian and on that path I will stay.
I am part of the past but their memory in me is hazy gray
