Wassel Grove

Of an experience in a heathen wood.

A line of fire

Flickers on mist enshrouding knees

Hooded carriers of torches file

Through the dark and twisted trees

The trees, the forest,

The trees in the forest

We worshipped in sacred groves

Effigies on wooden poles

Whispering with dead souls

I once did this

Scuffing through groves

That whisper old songs

And riddles to solve

We longed for the mead hall

The symbel and boast

To walk and crackle through the soft bracken

I see what this hidden world was for

And what it meant to the heathen mind

A gateway to interaction with gods

I acknowledge my bloody past

Of sacrifice within these trees

It is part of us

And so I return here

In modern ways

Drink to the evolution

Of our new heathen hearts!

Woden!

The trees, the forest

The trees in the forest.