Sacred Stones

In Eire, we walked on footpaths worn
by centuries of pilgrim boots
to standing stones and sacred springs
in hidden groves with hidden roots
and green was in our eyes, my love
and green grew soft to close us in
as intertwined, our forms combined
in one design of sacred skin

and sin was superstition, then -
a child's tale, to tease and kid
each other with; we cleaved unto
each other as the world was hid
by sacred limbs and leaves and stones
our hands and hearts were ringed around
- the grove was in a faerie ring,
a skein was otherworldly wound
around us by our hearts' request:
"For love to last, to never part!"
by silent benediction blessed
some witness worked a silent art

and in that grove, an hundred years
and more have passed - this sign remains
for wanderer to chance upon:
in whitest stone, in form unchanged,
two lovers intertwined recline.
No ravages of love's deceit,
no marks of time's decay, we lie
enamored and enarmoured; sweet

The grove was in a faerie ring
- we knew it not - our fondest wish
"for love to last, to never part"
was granted -

and they call us art.