NeuroDivine

They come and go like shifting tides
along the western sea;
yet when they rise again, you find
they’re just as they should be.

The years drift past like Brigid’s mist
on hills of Kildare stone;
but one small spark, a greeting sent,
and suddenly, you’re known.

For friends have wandered far and wide —
through English towns we’ve tread,
and sunlit cliffs on The Rock’s edge
that gaze across the Med.

Yet friendship holds a Celtic thread,
a knot no time can break;
it binds the heart in quiet ways
that distance cannot shake.

Like ogham carved on ancient oaks
their names remain with you;
though seasons turn and paths divide,
their meaning still shines through.

And in the hush of Midlands dusk,
where bog and river lie,
you feel them like a steady drum
beneath the open sky.

For friendships shaped by truth and time
are blessings of the land —
they circle back, like wandering souls
who know where you now stand.

So let the miles and seasons fade,
and let the oceans roar;
for every path you’ve ever walked
leads back to friendship’s door.

Copyright

© Michael McFarland Campbell. 2026. 
Permission granted for local church or parish use with attribution. Not for commercial reproduction.