The Mother's daughter...
Softly,
like yon little brook
murmurs,
like the graceful
owl flies,
you sing in my ear...
Singing
of the dances,
of the days
when you walked
with the moon...
When you walked
and saw
without seeing
the evil that we,
as a whole,
had brought down...
You speaking
of the long nights,
naked among the stars,
joyous with your sisters,
blood sisters...
Swimming in the ponds
power of the Summer Solstice
seeping in
to your bones...
Roaming the fields
of honeydew
and step lightly
among the spring grass...
Lifting your hands
and thanking the Mother
as the leaves fall
from the old Oak...
Softly,
like yon little brook
murmurs,
like the graceful
owl flies,
you sing in my ear...
And lead me
to my first dance
with my sisters
and the Mother...
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