Beneath the green turf of a low hill
The old gods lie,
Dreaming their dreams,
Flashing teeth and bronze blades,
The wild hunt and white stags,
And the fire of ancient passion in secret glades.
The old gods lie dreaming,
Because their world is lost,
All lies beneath the earth in broken shards
And bog-blackened bones.
Only the blackbird in the blackthorn
Sings their sorrows,
And I watch their tears run,
In the bright spring water.

Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

11 thoughts on “NaPoWriMo#3”

  1. I dreamt of this hill many years ago, I was part of a long line of people walking up to a small stone cave near the top. Inside was supposed to be a wise man who gave insights. When I reached it my younger brother stood there. I said, “You’ve got to come home, Mum said your dinner’s ready.” Crazy I know but it was the hill. That brother is an excellent psychic, a bit of a bastard but excellent nonetheless. 🙂

      1. No I didn’t Jane. Unfortunately we haven’t spoken in years, sadly I remind him of our old man. Believe me that isn’t a good thing.

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