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 seeking the awakening
 we have sought since leaving our mother’s wombs.