Wrinkled twinkling eyes of blue gazed brilliant into mine,
As we sat amongst the bluebells carpeting the emerald wood.
His hands were wispy, weathered, lined, clutched tightly on his staff --
Oak staff, and oaks our canopy -- against all time they'd stood.

"But I am not an oak," he said, as if he'd read my thoughts.
"Eventually all things must fail, must fade just like a ghost.
But listen now, and do recall that though our time is gone,
And no one here remembers us, it's now we need you most."

He waved the staff before my eyes, and no more words were said,
But visions of another time swirled darkly through the trees.
We watched as kings rode swiftly by on steeds of thunderous black,
The clash of armies, steel on steel, and shouts upon the breeze.

Darkly robed and feathered folk dashed in and out of line,
Raising arms and chanting spells around a blazing fire,
Calling down the wrath of gods upon the enemy side,
Sending forth a tempest as the flames danced ever higher.

As quickly as they'd come, they'd gone, and now beneath the trees,
Squirming, sun-kissed children gathered 'round a weathered crone.
She pulled a small, etched item from within a thread-bare pouch,
And spun a well-known tale that memory'd carved into the bone.

Among these children somewhere was the one who'd come to know
The secrets of the pouch revealed, in turn repeat the lore,
And dance alone in firelight wrapped in speckled, feathered cloak,
And scan the stars for portents as nine waves broke on the shore.

And then the old man next to me appeared in youthful guise,
Clothed in the furs and silk and gold that status showered down.
He stood behind a carved oak chair and whispered to the king,
While all around the chieftains carefully catered to the crown.

We watched as he held power in his grasp and cast our fate.
As he spoke out in his smooth voice, every eye was set on him,
For everyone within that hall was ever-so-aware
That Druids always spoke the Truth, and this night's words were grim.

The staff passed back before my sight and blue eyes fixed on me,
The green cool shade of oak trees fell across my puzzled brow.
He rested one gnarled, whithered hand across my shoulder, then
He asked me, "Well, child? Do you see the task before you now?"

I could not tell him yes, because I didn't understand,
The visions and my life's confusion showed up in my stare,
But he just smiled that gentle smile, reached down and took my hand,
And said, "It's your turn now, but when you need us, we'll be there."

The old man lives, somewhere beyond the reaches of my mind,
Whispering words to me about the lives that I won't claim.
Somewhere between the boundaries of time and space we flow;
Where spirit dwells, above all language, I still know his name.

© 1999, C. Leigh McGinley