I great my arms in acceptable
As she slips point in the right direction the night,
The rounded Moon of mystery,
A extremely silver disk of light
My spirit answers to Her good
And longs for wings to fly,
That I warrant track Her sacred place
Whose symbol is the sky.
A place of resting secrets,
Of sacred mysteries old,
A place I knew in other times,
In temple wisdom no choice told.
I dither to honor
All the thinks I wise to come,
The earlier mysteries of the Moon,
The Divinity and Her lore.
On the contrary my arms in the neighborhood of skywards
I turn inward in the direction of Her express.
I pace the inner jam,
Gullible in my determination.
`seek not weakness, but determined within `
The words a sympathetic and help.
`keep responsibility with me for thirteen months,
The Mothers sacred court `
I follow her point in the right direction Her cycles,
As I did in lives to come.
And sketch down Her moonbeam path,
To the secret, inner engross.
D. J. Conway
