Ostara Poem

Wake up crocus! First bud to spark the garden.
Thaw the soil that winter’s frost has wrought to harden.
Hours of day, hours of night, sync to your beat.
The sun stands straight against the earth, winter’s chill retreats.

The Horned God stirs, brushing snow, a bristle as he wakes.
A twisted torc, his spirit yearns, a wife to set him straight.
Dance Spring Goddess, bring us life, we’re tired of the gray.
The flowers follow in your steps, gather your bouquet.

It’s time to wed, sweet maiden, your destiny awaits.
With eggs and greens, we honor you, fresh feast upon our plates.
May you conceive a child, mother, before the shift of time.
Bring forth this season of abundance, fertility in prime.

Watching as your belly grows, full as the worm moon glows.
Keep us in your graces, and blessed be our prose.

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