She leads me on through the night
like an ancient silver filled balloon
reading a book upon old magic
using my light in the form of the moon

Full as the mother in my guise
one of my trio of faces to show
paused in the midst of my travels
of reflecting the suns bright glow

But..I cannot pause on my road
my cycle through the nights magic
I must surrender myself to my fate
or the pain will build to the tragic

Cost, as I surely must sublime
into the last of my many faces
the Crone, the wise old woman
with my craters showing traces

Of the pain of old and new impacts
of people telling their secrets to me
I cannot hear their tales and wishes
until I break this hold and am free

For Crone to melt into my new form
silent and dark as I quietly sleep
thinking upon the many, many secrets
whispered upon my soul and kept deep

To be reborn as the new Maiden
sharp and sweet in the twilight sky
to be admired as beauty renewed
to be young with my light newly spry