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The Hearth (1989)
Mystery was lord of the woods and streams
when the first fires swarmed on this hearth
and the cowled forest leaned above the door
cast in the shadows of the Anglo-Saxon dark.
Children were warned of outlaws and wolves,
were told of sacred wells, a hermit's altar
and the magical tales of Tristan and Merlin
by tellers whose eyes reflected the fire.
On nights when the wind chokes on the walls,
when the moon and owls sweep over the hills,
some glimmer of that kindling murmurs again
and the spirits of trees return to the wild.
But mystery itself was tempered and tamed,
sawn out of the wood; the air was ploughed.
The fantasy drifted away from this hearth,
now only its legends remain.
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