June Poems Series No. 7


Despite the science,

mystery still exists,

with magick as it’s alliance.

Science protests and resists.


Our ancestors built henges of stone,

To worship the sun as it rises and sets.

Where the wind cries out with a moan,

and a lonely, lost soul still frets.


Were humans sacrificed here,

by Druid priests dressed in white?

Can we still taste that palpable fear?

As we watch this majestic sight.


Or was it a measurement of time?

Summer Solstice the longest of days,

when daylight reigns, a sign

as the wheel turns in an endless maze.


Time marches on to the Autumn Equinox,

when day and night hours are equal.

The wheel turns again like a cunning fox,

when night hours are more than days – a fitting sequel.


Winter Solstice is the opposite of summer;

the shortest day, the longest night.

Tired of stories, games and plays with mummers,

the wheel turns again to Spring, a blesséd sight!


Spring Equinox bursts forth fresh and new;

again daytime hours are the same as night.

Then behold, the Summer Solstice harkens the few,

as mankind acknowledges the bright shining light.


The wheel of the year turns eternal

as it did in our ancestors time.

From solstice to equinox; summer, winter, autumnal and vernal.

still turning our world still marking tide and time.

©The Vixen of Verse, 2020.