Winds of Ostara

We drink from wells
dug by hands of old;
by ancient fire circles,
we gather against the cold.
Though the flames,
have faded into coals,
the morning star is here,
a season to behold.
By dawn we walk on trails
not yet tread;
we are rising from the dead.
Memories of the past,
pentacles carved in ash,
turn unto the place of spring,
the movements of
a black bird’s wings.
Stir the cauldron of rebirth
for the seasons of the earth,

Morning dew
like a mother’s tears,
mysteries wake softly
in the dawning of the year.
Morning light,
the way is shown;
though our footsteps have faded,
our trail is still here.
Night has passed:
oh rise these weary bones,
rise from the sleeping stones;
through the forest and the fields,
new life shall be revealed.
Turn unto the well of spring,
the early morning robin brings,
a brighter song of rebirth,
for the seasons of the earth.

Under the Snow

Awake from the darkness
of the sleeping night,
now the hour of dawn is breaking;
through ceaseless winds in a land of ice,
that hope has never forsaken.
Oh shake the ice from these ragged wings,
for the hour of flight is returning;
grains of hope have begun to grow,
where promise was sleeping
under the snow.

Oh wake me when it’s over,
shake me from this sleep;
from the dark of endless winter,
light return to me.
The season wakes,
and hope awaits,
through the dark of endless night;
the season is the reason,
For the vigil of the light.

Rise from the sorrow
of dark despair,
for the light of grace is dawning;
hold on to trust and hope and care,
for we’ve almost made the morning.
Oh shake the fear from these leafless limbs,
for the tide is surely turning;
buds of hope have begun to grow,
where tomorrow was sleeping
under the snow.

Oh wake me when it’s over,
shake me from this sleep;
from the dark of endless winter,
light return to me.
The season wakes,
fulfill our fate,
through the dark of endless night;
let the season be the reason,
for the vigil of the light.

Lady and the Unicorn

In a dark autumn wood,
the winding tower stands,
surrounded by a gate,
the latch within her hands.
The blood-red dying leaves,
falling at her feet,
kneeling at her presence,
the muse he bows to greet.

So long I have waited,
for one to set me free;
now the gate is open,
and my heart belongs to thee.

She opens the tower gate,
yet still he only bows,
she whispers to him freedom,
caressing his soft brow.
He stands before her silent,
stands and does not flee;
he whispers back so softly,
to the one who holds the key.

So long I have waited,
for one to set me free;
now the gate is open,
and my heart belongs to thee.

By the great stone hearth,
this tapestry still waves;
by the breeze through the window,
singing stories of their days.
Blood-red woven threads
tell a tale of the heart,
of ageless woodland lovers,
that time could never part.

When he wanders in the forests,
in time his true heart yearns,
through the gate that’s still wide open,
to the tower he returns.
She opens up the window,
and far below he bows;
the spiral of their journey,
is the sign upon his brow,

So long I have waited,
For one to set me free;
now the gate is open,
and my heart belongs to thee

Shadows

Shadows, shadows dance away the fire,
from summer green to fallen leaves,
oh light the sylvan pyre;
for the day is red and ripe upon the branch,
leaves of autumn turn to gold,
shadows, shadows dance away the fire.

For there is a summer in each life,
until the shadows ride the samhain wind,
to a twilight celebration;
and there is a shadow to each light,
a dusk to every morning spring,
to a seasons celebration in the dark.

Shadows, shadows wash away our pain,
feel the harvest hour of letting go,
‘til the hearth’s alight again;
for the night is sweet
and ripe upon the vine,
she seeds dreams within her herbs,
and ancient grains of wisdom in her wine.

For there is a winter in each life,
‘til springtime blooms carry us,
to a maidens celebration;
and there is a fire in each night,
a sleep unto awakening,
to a seasons celebration in the light.

Shadows, shadows carry us to rest,
to roots of willow and beds of stone,
to hillsides where our ashes are blown.
Time, time, dance away the cold,
feel the starlight in the wintery hood,
the summers gift, the fire in the wood.

For there is a season to each life,
a hope for sorrow and despair,
shadows, shadows dance away the fire.
For there is a season to each life,
a gift of joy for every pain,
to a season’s celebration in the heart.

Rose Red (The Moon’s Daughter)

Memories of apple blossoms,
now the fruit is bright and red;
Rose-Red the lips of the mother,
a crown of stars around her head.
Rose-Red the moon’s daughter,
taste the fruit when it’s dark and red;
the winged heart of the apple-mother,
a crescent moon upon her head.

Black the mane of the scarlet priestess,
she holds the child to her breast;
round and round the blackthorn tree,
her path of shadow is bright and blessed.
Rose-Red the moon’s daughter,
at her feet the blessed bow;
the winged heart of the apple-mother,
a crescent moon upon her brow.

Scrye the vision in the black night water,
the twilight fruits the seasons keep;
the wayfarer of the river,
when the waters are dark and deep.
Rose-Red the moon’s daughter,
taste the fruit when it’s dark and red;
the winged heart of the apple-mother,
a crescent moon upon her head.

Roots

From a book of fire,
was a world of flame,
cast in the name of light.
Now, the darkness is returning,
like the beauty of a starry night.
For our roots reach down
through the darkness,
into the well of life;
our roots reach down
through the darkness,
to the mysteries of night.

In the cool of summer’s shadow,
in the forest dim with shade,
she bears the fruits of darkness
when the rays of summer fade.
For our roots reach down
through the darkness,
to the well of life;
our roots reach down
through the darkness,
like the beauty of a starry night.

Lady night rises from the ashes,
with the cradle of tomorrow’s care,
singing “live with hope and passion,
defy all doubt and despair.”
On shining black wings of ravens,
in the horns of the stag,
the Old Ways shall return again
in a way they already have.
For our roots reach down,
through the darkness,
to the well of life;
our roots reach down,
through the darkness,
to the mysteries of night.
Our roots reach down
through the darkness,
to the well of life;
our roots reach down
through the darkness,
like the beauty of a starry night.

Perennial

Oh dream me a love that never dies,
born again like the springtime,
whose petals fall and leaves may shed,
yet deep beneath is never dead.

Oh dream me a love through winter’s cold,
dream of days when petals unfold,
from buds reborn and branches bare,
in a garden that seemed beyond repair.

Oh dream with me love, a lovers dream,
for such may live ‘neath a snow of grief,
when the petals fall and love seems gone,
dream a love to be reborn.

Oh dream with me love of hidden roots,
that know the names of tomorrow’s fruits,
that hide beneath a winters ice,
to rise again this morning light.

Golden Raven’s Eye

Golden raven’s eye,
in the dark of night,
on your wings I fly
to greet the dawning sun,
soar through falling stars;
in the core of my heart
you’ll spread your wings
to envelop my soul,

Bridge of many worlds
between night and day,
queen of twilight dreams
alighting to rescue me
from the endless fall;
out of dark withered trees
in falling leaves
we will spiral towards home.

Follow the leaves
into the night,
where behind the moon,
darkness takes flight;
follow the stars
through their only true home
to a depth so deep
only a mother would know,
just how far she must fly,
on ragged wings
through the darkest night,
to rebirth the light.

Golden raven’s eye
in the dark of night
in your heart I dream,
of days where I have been
one with earth and wind
a small stone in the stream,
of endless love,
nothing in between,
‘tween you and me,
in the home of us all.