Where are they now who raised the Stones
Passed through the veil leaving ashes and bones
A tribe, a nation, once mighty and strong
Even their ghosts are dead, their echoes long gone
What dreams did they dream, what songs did they sing
Of Lovers and Gods, of Heroes and Kings
Did they worship the Mother and honour the Land
In sacred circle, stand hand in hand
What stories were told in the star-blazing nights
As they danced round the stones in moon’s sacred light
Who were their priests, to which Gods did they pray
For Sun’s kindly blessings on each Solstice Day
Did they laugh, did they sing as they cut the Bluestones
Released from the Hills by flint axe and bone
Then lifting the stones, each in its place
Silent to stand in earth’s firm embrace
Were the Stones raised in circle and by their priests blest
To receive mighty Kings to earth’s sacred rest
Were they bound to the land, to the Gods, to the Sky
To the cycle of life, to live and to die
Now we stand where they stood, in ritual and prayer
In circle with fire, with rain, earth and air
We gaze, we wonder, the how and the why
In the stillness, the long silence of reply
