Druid s Staff

A cycle of poems «Anamnesis morbi»

In the realm of ancient lore,
Where verdant forests deeply soar,
A druid's staff, with grace unbound,
A symbol of wisdom, power profound.

Oh, the druid's staff, entwined with might,
A vessel of magic, guiding the night,
With emerald leaves and gnarled oak's might,
A bridge between realms, where shadows alight.

Wood of elder, strong and true,
Imbued with secrets, old and new,
Carved with runes, a language of grace,
Whispers of wisdom, filling space.

Raised high above, it summons the wind,
Controlling storms, shaping destiny's spin,
A tool of healing, nurturing life's flame,
Guiding lost souls, lighting up the rain.

In the druid's hand, it holds sacred sway,
Connecting to nature, a mystical play,
Calling upon spirits, both ancient and wise,
Unveiling secrets, beneath the starlit skies.

Oh, the druid's staff, entwined with might,
A vessel of magic, guiding the night,
With emerald leaves and gnarled oak's might,
A bridge between realms, where shadows alight.

Through time's endless tapestry, it remains,
A symbol of wisdom, that forever sustains,
The druid's staff, a legacy of yore,
A timeless treasure, forever to adore.