Our lands are sacred , home to willow and the mighty oak
Mistletoe dripping down , groves of solititude revered
Traditions upheld grown in fields of green
Following spirits guidance unseen
From out of the sea madness came
Despoiling our land for commerce and gain
Our land of sacred hope and love
Out of mist and bogs she was born
Like a fire she spread across our sight
Flames of hate fired by fear and guilt
To drive the madness into the sea
A brief flaring for a time burned them hard
To the point of defeat and despair
Too strong was their hand
Reaching too far into the lives and hopes
Of a people born out of the land
An eagle swooping on helpless prey
Without remorse our emotional concern
To civilise , subjugate and enslave
Assimilate to the majority wave
Love for land and its ways not part of society
And for gaining of power was the aim.
Remember her name the flame haired queen
Boudicca forever , fire of our sacred land.

Andrew Provan McIntyre                               28/10/10