Darkhenge

AE. PHAGOS: BEECH

The machines are silent.

We are a dark ring around the bed,

a forest of trees.

Neither of mother or father

were we made,

not our body or our blood.

But of nine kinds of elements,

of God’s fruits of Paradise,

of the flowers of the primrose,

the blossom of trees and bushes.

From the earth’s roots we rose,

from the broom and the nettle,

from the water of the ninth wave.

The Wisest One made us in

the earth’s dawn,

knowing what the stars know

before Time, before the World.