Arianrhod weave for me a dream, upon your silver wheel where threads intertwine with the hearts of all folk. Where lives are born from the ether of beyond. Where souls in slumber await return to walk the green ways of the land once more.
In your darkest hours before the rising of the dawn, when loneliness and treachery wander afar, lay to rest the ghost of deeds long past and take me to the bosom of your heart amidst the palace of the stars.
Upon the Oar wheel, may I rise with you and know the beating cry of the fierce maid, in whose voice I hear singing to her children far below. To whom strength is love and passion is freedom.
Do I dare to dream and follow in the wake of the Goddess? Do I dare to dream of a life rich in love and folly and tenderness and loss?
You call and I wander to the halo that caresses the beacon alight in the midnight sky and so I pale before you and cast aside the confines of a false pursuit of what it is to live.
A weaver indeed is She that pulls upon the gossamer thread of each breath I take. A harsh mistress, a gentle soul, a mother, She who knows no master but her own heart. Teach me the way of the soul in all its deepest yearning.
Before you cut the thread and end this, my brief journey, guide me toward the true beauty of a life lived with passion and liberty, unrestrained by the imprisonment of the mind.
May I dance a while with you, will you weave for me a dream?