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In the hour of the fading sun

Old songs can be heard

Over the moors in the ash and oak

Where the spirits heed their words

The lone hymns that were weaved and spun

Before the age of fern

Felt on the air by the hands of those

Whose crying hearts still yearn

Orphic rites of the mystic

Communion with the Gods

The heart is pulled in rapture

By the currents of the ocean

The fragrance of cedar passes

By lantern lit devotion

The pulse of the clamoring drum

Mimic the flames growing faster

As the spirits of night listen

And the owls surrounding answer