Solstice hymn (absolute silliness)

A baptismal chrism of dew drops in June
'Neath a sky lit at once by the sunrise and moon...
Branch rustle crack under wild feet in shadows,
And the early supper before winter commences.
The trees heave with wood pigeons and all sorts of nesters
Awake at the sunrise of four forty-nine,
All baptised at once in the bountiful wine.

All sorts of flies and moths lit up like stars,
So that bats tear across to hunt them with ease
The warm night cooled intermittently by a godsent breeze
So gently to awaken the choir of trees branches
Stirring the solstice and arousing the creatures
All awake to partake in the midsummer feast.
All sorts of shadow and all kinds of beast.

But the sky is alight with the stars, moon and Sun
A miraculous view of the heavens from the dark of the garden.
The sunrise so early took its time to horizon,
So the light danced enchanting against the darkness of night sky
And transformed all the nature around it.
It is mystic you see, a mysterious glee
As the light enchanting and the nature transforming,
So as to be overwhelming.
The spirit leaps in bacchant ecstasy...

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An old.woman speaks of the solstice at sea,
You could scarcely believe what you're seeing...
On a ship's deck all moonlit, the sailors look seaward,
Only to see like great islands afloat,
All sorts of creature from the maritime deep.
They arise in the light, the whale sing hymns to the high sun
Like a chorus of angels, in a sound only heard
By the ears of a god,
For it's their language they sing
And offer unto heaven.

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Away in a land far away from this England
The soil could be heaving with waking cicadas.
The great forests that reach to the clouds at the top
Swell and grow in the great fetour, that accompanies the theatre
Of bountiful feasting,
By all sorts of beasties
On the dead cicada shell...
So wondrous a feat of a species of tree
Has its foundation in the high summer revelry...

The horny cicadas lie dormant in waiting
For the ancestral period of mating.
After eighteen long years, the soil surface tears,
And the cicada gets right to his work.

They are young now and free of their captivity,
So they must mate and repopulate the soil.
They number millions you see, and in the long summer day,
They mate relentlessly.
For when they are done, they fall dead in the mud..
Even living, they are in great peril!
For all sorts of animal come to prey on them fiercely
And eat them alive before mating.

They are clumsy as well when they first reach the ground,
They are very easily preyed on.
And in more or less three more days
All will die anyway
And their bodies produce wondrous humous
For the giant red trees to stretch up with their leaves
To become a Canadian redwood.