Descending chords sounded the death knell of summer. 
The piper calls the chieftains, kings and warriors
from the far fields of wasted war and destruction
to gather together around bright solstice fires 
together with lost forgotten lovers and friends.

So beat your pagan drums to the bright religion
of the earth, of the universe, of all the gods
and goddesses that are our daily companions
while we walk this mortal coil to the new light
we have sought since leaving our mother’s wombs.