Along the road of old December
when the Ancients walk abroad,
I fall in with their company, twelve
days and nights astride.
Druid, Priestess, Pagan, Fool,
Astrologer monk and Hermit king,
they who track the star and tide,
older, wiser folk than I.
We march under darkened skies,
a host, a band, a multitude. Claw,
hoof, foot and wing, together
journey towards light and spring.
West to east, the Ancients mark
the worn, the dying, bygone year.
Along the road, the fires burning,
turning old and the cold -- to ash.
Welcome! New Year!
