Pentre Ifan

in the Midday Night
 Silent aura of the mountain -
 Flickers like a candles light
 Tables shrouded in secrets
 They have a sacred cradle
 Trilling whistles golden Crickets
 And the sky breathes with the wind
 Throwing azure into the abyss of water
 And Merlin will stand on the sloping rock
 Transforming every time
 Without noticing this day
 Not marking this hour.
 A river flows from granite rocks
 Weaving the roots of grass and trees
 And loud is the whisper as darkness flocks
 From the stone Pentre Ifan rises a  haze
 Singing a mysterious song
 Covering the Celtic gardens prays

 I'll touch you with a warm hand
 To your whispering coolness
 I will absorb the Memory of Silver Land
 I'll turn into a Welsh fairy
 Into your druid sons
 Back to the Druid Ages

 There is the quiet rustle of wise books
 They contain signs, runes, dreams and poses
  And an old man with a white beard, standing with rooks
 His magic wand is knocking on the altar
 He calls upon Cernunnos
 His reflecting Face no falter