I dearly love Samhuinn, and Beltane almost as much; hence, I was moved to expand my preciously entered "Madrigal" to encompass both spokes of the Wheel.
Come, my love, o come,
to the field, to the stream,
to the woodland bower,
where faeries flit and green men roam
and all the Earth bursts forth,
ripe, fecund, fertile, alive!
Let us go a-maying
with sun in our eyes,
blossoms in our hair,
drawing the newness into ourselves
as the Lady smiles on us
and Her Horned Consort laughs for sheer joy.
Hail the spring,
Bright Lady Spring!
Sap rising in stem and leaf,
Spirit rising in every creature,
as the Wheel turns
and brings us back to our beginnings.
Come, my love, come back again,
from the mown fields,
from the forlorn brambles,
from the golden wood
where fallen leaves drift crimson
beneath stark branches, against silvery boles:
The Crone calls,
the Cailleach beckons
with a single crooked finger.
Let us withdraw as the Earth prepares
for her sleep, and all creatures likewise,
retreating to den and burrow and snug fireside,
to rest, to be still, to dream
of a far-off dawn.
Hail the Harvest Queen!
Hail the fallen King,
the beloved one who must also sleep
cocooned in the welcoming womb of night
until the Wheel turns once again
to our rebirth.