Song of Spring: A Prayer for Winter's End

Oh, how I long
For the green buds of Spring.
To see robin's red breast
Amongst the young curling leaves.
The gray cloak of Winter
Still shrouds the sky,
Once upon a time,
A soft, blue blanket
Which children played beneath.
Yet the Crone still clutches
The land to her cold breast,
Unwilling to relinquish her throne,
Even as she fades
'Neath the sun's steady gaze.
Where are the Spring faey,
Pan's heirs, floating on crisp breeze,
Awakening the sleeping seed,
Reviving the dormant earth?
They must still tend to the Maiden,
Teasing her from snow bound slumber,
Cajoling whispers that beckon,
Drawing her out
Of the Great Mother's womb.
Wise Crone, I beseech thee,
Rest thy weary spirit
'Til the fire chants of Samhain
Awaken thee once more.
Retreat behind thy veil
And take up thy frosted cloak
To wrap thyself
In its cold, dreamless folds.
I hail thee, Maiden Goddess.
Rise up to greet the dawn.
Stretch forth thy hand
Over this barren land
And bring life from death
Once more.
This is my humble prayer,
A reprieve from
The long nights of Winter,
To feel thy warmth in my heart
As I watch the silent snowfall,
The song of Spring
Still echoing within my soul.

... Moone