Rhiannon22

I have been a student of the mystics, And a miller by a stream. I have delved in the bones of Mother Earth, And tended goats on hillsides. I have been poor more often than not, And happy, by and by. I will flow into the sea one day, Yet still I have my source. My home is Caledon of old, Beyond the wall of turf and tree, Raised in folly by a Latin hand. What need for temples and icons of gold? We have the hills and sheltered glens, The crags whose weathered faces, Have glowered in the mists, Ere your paltry lands rose from the waves. I have been an otter playing in a burn, And a kestrel on the wing. I have been a wolf howling