A Druidic Myth-Poem - in Betjemannesque style

When Druids worshipped 'midst the oaks
and sacrificed the nasty blokes
in human shapes of wicker made,
and danced in firelight round the glade;
at Stonehenge gathered, Solstice morn
and watched the first new light of dawn
and yet despite the blood and gore
were good and holy, wise and more -
with Nature they were well-aligned,
although to sacrifice inclined.

At least that's what the legend says
despite the lack of evidence.
Our grimy modern way of life
makes romance of a sacred knife
that flashes round the smoke-filled crown
of stone on Sarum's rolling down
and ends the frantic flutt'ring breath
of some poor victim facing death
and thinks it a small price to pay
for living in a natural way.

And dreams against all common sense
of natural power flowing thence
down ley alignments, wyrd and fay,
the electric cables of their day
and thinks the modern world quite drear
compared to wondrous yester-year
and nuclear power a scary bet
for powering the Internet.
So I shall ponder visions bright
and meditate on a tea light.