Celtic Quoit a singing stone,
From ancestral voices flown,
Granite legend raised at last,
In a Cornish woodlands past.
Worked at will, with eager hands,
To clear and tend this sacred land.
Heartstone of our pagan story,
Brought alive in all it’s glory.
Watching days turn into night,
Seasons glories passing flight.
Years that turn so quick away,
Decades span and still you stay.
Sacred stones of past reach out,
Hear new voices raise a shout.
Held within from all who came,
Spirits of this place remain.
Sandra Chapman Spring 2014