Dark Time

Now follows the dark time,
grey stones, night's chill falling,
owls, flower-faced, calling
winter and old friends

As wind gathers, rustling
dry dead flowers from heather,
rattling broom-seeds; shifting
now, between the worlds, wait,
between year and season,
between known and unknown,
turnings, change, year's end.

Harvest made, we gather,
shape and sort, assemble
sift tales of our season
spun from joy or sadness
crafting song and legend
stories to attend

On the cairn, leaves new-spread,
new-dead, over long-dead
bones in barrow bearing
stories of the years past
living tales and sped

our deeds, their rememberings,
merging here, our beings,
self or legend; lives turn,
seed to earth our year's work
wait the new year's growing,
join our hopes ahead

So, now, comes the wanderer,
worlds-walking, by barrow,
stone, or stream, or city
hearing song and story
hoarding deed and meaning
words that lie in wyrd