Banishing the Ghosts that Cling
Pink the embers, flaming, burning,
With the winter wind returning,
Clouds upon the aether churning,
As the forest dwellers sing.
At the altar, drawn together,
Sheltering in darksome weather,
Dressed in hessian and in leather,
With such mellow sounds to bring.
Forest darkness thick and dreary,
Through a season sick and weary,
Light and shadow mingled eerie,
With the cold a bitter sting.
Heady earth in wetness reeking,
With the oak and willow creaking,
With the owl so softly speaking,
On the bough, a forest king.
Ritual to bring salvation,
From the pall of ruination,
Singing like a protestation,
Banishing the ghosts that cling.
Song presents a window shining,
To the poor, in loss repining,
On such meagre rations dining,
In a fate that devils fling.
Such a ray of hope to borrow,
In a curse that lurks tomorrow,
Like a balm displacing sorrow,
Like a happy mountain spring.
adamdaniel 