Pilgrim of the heavens abode,
a wanderer lingering ere not long.
Whereby upon the eventide,
begins a ritual in solitude arise.
Of a journey ere westward told,
over innumerable miles behold.
Weaving a path across the sky,
in a journey of unending miles fly.
Bright Lady, silent sentinel,
temptress of the dark.
Maiden, Mother and the Crone,
bleak night of ones lonely soul.
Bringer of the deepest dark,
companion to the quiet heart.
The pulse of quickening,
does strays forth, upon this dewy green of home.
All life takes head of your call,
Rivers flow to your embrace.
Ephemeral and distant,
an elegance of light radiates from
this beacon of the night.
An incandescent shadow filled
with a mothers mirth.
Watch over me and alight the way,
back to the womb of my birth.
Sister, I hear your call,
Mother, I feel your breath.
And in the darkness that lingers here,
Old Crone I dance with you so near.