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Occasionally I wandered in where I was not wanted and gave truthful answers.
Sometimes I even did it deliberately. A little disruption now can prevent disaster later.

“Circles”

In days gone by, when the world was much younger, 
men wondered at Spring, born of winter's cold night; 
wondering at the games of the moon and the sunlight. 
They saw there the Lady and Lord of all life.

And around and around and around turns the good earth. 
All things must change as the seasons go by. 
We are the children of the Lord and the Lady 
whose mysteries we know, but we never know why.

In all lands the people were tied to the good earth 
Plowing and sowing as the seasons declared. 
Waiting to reap of the rich golden harvest, 
knowing Her laugh in the joys that they shared.

And around and around and around turns the good earth. 
All things must change as the seasons go by. 
We are the children of the Lord and the Lady 
whose mysteries we know, but we never know why.

Through Flanders and Wales and the green land of Ireland, 
in Kingdoms of England and Scotland and Spain, 
Circles grew up all along the wild coastline 
and worked for the land with the sun and the rain.

And around and around and around turns the good earth. 
All things must change as the seasons go by. 
We are the children of the Lord and the Lady 
whose mysteries we know, but we never know why..

Circles for healing and working the weather, 
circles for knowing the moon and the sun, 
circles for thanking the Lord and the Lady, 
circles for dancing the dance never done.

And around and around and around turns the good earth. 
All things must change as the seasons go by. 
We are the children of the Lord and the Lady 
whose mysteries we know, but we never know why..

And we who reach for the stars in the heavens, 
turning our eyes from the meadows and groves 
still live in the love of the Lord and the Lady. 
The greater the circle, the more the love grows.

And around and around and around turns the good earth. 
All things must change as the seasons go by. 
We are the children of the Lord and the Lady 
whose mysteries we know, but we never know why.

Contemporary. Melody Windmills by Alan Bell
Lyrics by Gwen Zak Moore, probably in mid 1970's

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A narrow slice of life, but now and again pondering American neopaganism, modern adult pagans & the World.

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