Beyond The Five-Barred Gate
I know a secret place where time stands still,
by Pete Crowther
It lies beyond a five-barred gate, enclosed
By hawthorn hedges heaped up high with drifting snow
In maytime when the barn owl glides, pale ghost,
Above the grasses. Here come timid deer
To drink beside the reed-fringed pond, it is
The haunt of fox and hare, a haven for
The hunted, safe home for mole and water vole.
At dusk you’ll see white ghost moths dance above
The swaying rushes. Not far away from here
There is a place where others, too, may dance—
A druids’ grove of seven trees that grow
In a magical ring, in a sacred circle of seven.
I’ll give you their names, then when the next full moon
Sends down its silvery light you may join the dance
To celebrate our love for good Mother Earth.
Here in the ring the tallest tree is the cherry,
Then comes the crab, the copper beech, the rowan,
The stripling oak, the tree of streams, the alder,
And queen of all, that lovely small-leaved lime,
So let’s link arms, and sing and dance, be merry.
Let the billow roll, let the wave of life uplift us
For it is Life itself we celebrate
In this magical place beyond the five-barred gate.