White of Morn

By Kenton Adler

 

Children of the holy grove,
as below, and so above.

Measuring what lies beneath,
ancient echoes fill the air.
Treasure, sun-bleached giantís teeth.
Grass as green as emeralds there.
All we are, and ever were,
captured in a momentís reign.
Firm belief, but never sure,
only that these stones remained.
Marking days, and men gone by,
crowns of distant glory, worn.
Not to know what was or why.
Silent in the white of morn.

Silent now, the white of morn.
Knot to know what was or why.
Crowns of distant glory worn,
marking days, and men gone by.
Only that, the stones remain,
firm belief, but never sure.
Rapture, moments in the rain,
all we are and ever were.
Grass as green as emeralds there.
Treasure sun-bleached giantís teeth.
Ancient echoes filling Eire,
measuring what lies beneath.

As below, and so above,
children of the holy grove.