Seated round the smokey fire

Faces clouded in curling wreaths

Attentive eyes focused ears listening

While I spin threads of myth and fancy

For this is what I was meant to be

Bred in my bones to tell the tales

As told to me

Entrusted to me

To ensure their preservation

I trained for this

Practiced long

Weaving words in warp and weft

And faltering threads

On the loom I was given

Around this stoney circle

And wrap it over encircling shoulders

Drawing ever closer

While casting out to dare the darkness

To come no further

I pose an invitation to partake with me

The substance of what I recite

Join me while I draw you in

And make this circle whole.