Day 113

Create a place of power
mother said to me
Make the place your bower
call the fae not free

Here with stones I mark
where my knights will stand
Here with blooded bark
Do I begin my land

The oaken wood my army
The sun's pyre my throne
Consort Rowan the High Tree
Consort Blackthorn called home

Blood and fire from the dreaming
here when screams and fear fade
where fire, blood, power weaving
settle in this echoing glade

Now a mate for the sigal
a Queen no more a maid
Blood turned fire burns the symbol
Stones, Throne, Souls, Glade

Mark you mine slaving faries
Now I free you from her call
Take my message to the Green Queen
You are loosed from her thrall

Marked are we as sure as they
Who take power all unknowing
Wear this symbol like a blade
and worlds we will be growing

The dance of creation on Midsummer's Eve
The birth of protection from fire that seeks