The seasons turn; I see white flowers:
Those harbingers of longer hours
Of daylight, and without delay
The days stretch forth to pave Her way.
On clear nights She spans the skies
The constellations are Her eyes.
Her cloak deep indigo within;
Without the barn owl’s feathered skin.
She wards cold winter from her hearth;
She guards her kin through death and dearth.
She gathers round her kinder tight
And keeps them through that long, hard night.
They ride with her, in giddy dance,
With Winter Nights Wild Hunt’s advance.
They tread Her step who hear Her song
For those who hear to Her belong.
And now the hours of day and night
Come closer. Lengthening even light
Heralds her change, for soon She sheds
Her winter clothes for summer’s threads.
And on that glorious even-day
Her winter guise She casts away,
And then, in blaze of glory bright
Cries Victory o’er winter’s dark night.
Then summer comes, with hawthorn flower,
And every hedgerow is a bower
For sweeter pleasure. And then our days
Are spent in far more joyful ways.
And then She winds about Her head
The rosebuds. Takes She to Her bed
Her lovers; laughter in Her eyes;
Her songs of joy, ‘neath English skies.