The Maiden Goddess
The Maiden dances, pale and fair,
On April mornings soft with rain.
With apple blossoms in Her hair,
And green leaves trailing from Her train.
In pastures thick with silver dew,
She stops to bless each calf and cow.
Her duty here is to renew,
A waxing crescent on Her brow.
She sows the seeds of things to come.
As fresh and innocent as air,
But in the distance, summer's drum
Will beckon Her from here to there.
Free Forum Hosting
Important Announcement
First 