youth, as fresh as the dew,
new life unfolding, golden in hue.
In the eyes of the young, the wheel never turns,
spring is unending, the lamp always burns.
Youth is protecting, exultant and bright,
his arms encircle his maiden of light.
A chalice of crystal, to the athame a sheath,
the maiden enfolding, new life now beneath.
The seed has been planted, the new life will form,
daughter of promise, Maiden of corn.
Mother and Father, consort and queen,
they dance through the forest, they dance on the green.
They see the wheel as it spins in its ways,
marking the seasons, counting their days.
Their children dance with them, golden and warm,
the harvest is ripening, kept safe from all harm.
Like silver and copper, life burnished bright,
the fruits of the summer, they shine in the light.
Sweet horn of plenty, may your promise be born,
Bountiful Lady, Mother of corn.
Grandmother, grandfather, they stand arm in arm,
their circle near ending and waiting the dawn.
They know well the wheel as they circle about,
their voices speak softer, no need to shout.
New life and old, they faced each in turn,
Knowing that new from the old will return.
He dreams in the night of what he had been,
Lord of the forest, Lord of the green.
But the bones of an old man are painful and worn,
will his Lady remember her Lord of the Horn?
She sees him still as virile and young,
blind to the changes the long years have wrung.
A Chalice of crystal, with the eyes of the wise,
knowing that love that is true never dies.
The harvest is gathered, how full is the horn,
Lady of wisdom, Crone of the corn.
The wheel it has circled, time without end,
old life remembers, and welcomes the grain.
For the corn and the seed are one and the same,
that which has been, will be again.
Demeter our mother, Behold the newborn,
Mother of all, Behold the Corn.