Golden leaves dances across grey skies
Falling softly on frost-laden fields
Dead branches casting shadows over sun-dappled streams
How crisp and clean the air!
So the Sun-God bidding His Goddess farewell
Crosses over; In Her sacred womb He dwells
While we entreat ancient spirits
Rose-red fires against the cold dark night
Light the candle, set out the wine and the bread
To guide them home again!

Poem by Rev. Donna © copyright 2012-10-08 – All Rights Reserved


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