I look behind me and see the face of a poet,

Flaming eyes that know no bounds,

Who understands the secrets of the land, the sea, the sky,

And the language of the birds,

Who can hear the message in the cry of the gull,

In the voice of the wave,

And the cold, dark, Earth.

I look before me.

And see my reflection

And our voices sing the tales of the land,

As the old Druid whispers them to me,

From tree, river, from land of old.

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