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Celtic Druid

As a child, when l heard the sacred whispers

In the trees, and blades of grass,

When magic was timeless, and all the light of the universe could be seen

For certain, without thinking, trees and sky in trance

Of my mind; or l slipped into their mysterious dream,

I was saturated with strangeness, which was yet so familiar,

As if a veil were drawn open, so I could enter in

An antenatal vision, shimmering like my shadow

In the water of sacred ponds, in my childhood’s special garden.


Biography

Cloudsley, Tim, MA; British independent academic researcher and writer, poet, essayist, and short story writer resident in Colombia; formerly lecturer in Sociology at Heriot-Watt University, Edinburgh, Scotland.


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