They left the green and rocky land
So many years ago, as a close-knit band;
From purple valleys and misty blue hills
Came a special people with oak strong wills.

In their veins the blood of warriors and kings-
Artisans and poets who gave the vision wings.
Farmers, ladies, gentlemen and dreamers –
They all came with the pious and the schemers.

In the still and the shadow of the early morn,
When birds are silent and the stars forlorn –
The moments of time shift and bend;
Hear their lilting voices carried on the wind.

Listen to the story of the Travelers,
Note it all well for their story is yours.
Follow them across the seas and plain –
See their faces in the falling silver rain.

Hear the pipes’ call in the crisp, cold air,
Moment by moment their lives they share.
All a part of the pattern of the weaver –
Fashioned ‘neath the light a falling star.

Past the mountains, forest, and the grassy plain,
Comes each of the Travelers holding fast a name.
Listen to the Legend and remember one and all –
Remember each story…write it on the wall.

They left their green and rocky land –
Like coins spilling from an ancient hand.
As they spread out across the hills and plains –
Feel their blood…feel their blood…running in your veins.

Marilyn A. Hudson (c1992) Seanchaidhe

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