Spring At Avebury

Cold, grey stone in formation stand, Old standing stones, they gathered round, Around the magic close to hand, Old hands that grasped the Pagan ground. The joyous come to dance and sing, They sing the tales the ancients told, The stories told by bards of spring That spring shall come end winter’s cold. All seasons turn upon the wheel, The wheel of life that never ends, At winter’s end the warmth we feel, All feeling the path springtime wends. Form: Wreathed Quatrains