The Mournful Wind’s Song

The moon, a goddess, rules the starry night,
Her silver light a guide for those astray.
The ancient trees, with leaves of green and bright,
Bow down to her, in honor and in sway.

The wind, a spirit, sings a mournful tune,
A song of magic, ancient and unknown.
The wildflowers, with petals soft as moon,
Dance to the beat, their beauty fully shown.

The earth, a mother, nurtures all within,
A source of life, a shelter from the storm.
Her breath, a breeze, a caress of kin,
A loving touch, a constant and a norm.

The pagan path, a journey rich and true,
A connection to the world, old and new.