As I walk the sunset track,
Looking forward,
Looking back,
In the hedgerow, lit green and gold,
I found a Goddess, new yet old.
Still I stand, and gaze in wonder,
Insects hum,
Her center plunder,
Blossoms white and glowing, draw,
Them to her sweet, pink, honeyed core.
This Goddess whispers, gentle breeze,
No storm,
Nor freeze,
Can still her voice, hush and heed,
To bloodied wisdom, grow the seed.
This Goddess floral, girt in green,
Maybe noticed,
Seldom seen,
Is knowing of a womans woes, heavy laid,
Duties weighing, tolls paid.
The seasons, as my youth, fly by,
Sullied soil,
Greying sky,
Till, withering, dessicated husk,
To drop into a seeming dusk.
Companion to the Goddess green,
Waxes, wanes,
Constant, seen,
A moon of silver, night light, glisten,
Still the heart, hush and listen.
Who is she then, this epitome,
Embodied feminine,
By root, and tree,
This one, as Guelder Rose, is known,
Maiden, Mother, lastly Crone.
The Guelder Rose is an ancient woodland indicator. with her place in Slavonic and Scandinavian folk lore. As a herbal remedy for cramps she was useful to women especially for alleviating menstrual cramping by making an infusion using dried bark.