It is written in the runes
unveiled by the maypole ******.
When the darkest kiss
meets the storm of light
on a midsummer’s night.
The sisterhood has gathered.
Fog and dew, euphoric moves.
Chanting, flaunting ivory skin.
Feel the pull of our dance
the taunting of our calls.
Baccanal cries of ******.
Bringing down the silver tears
of falling stars to heal, to still
the wounded souls, the lost
with a swill of magic dew.
Moon daisy,
Buttercup
Count the number,
hold your tongue.
Catchfly and Baby’s breath
say naught to no one
keep the faith.
Delphinium
my steadfast knight.
Bluebell and yes,
Forget-me-not.
Gathered by the crossroad
of yesterdays and tomorrows.
Gentle flowers sacralized
s e v e n for the magic number
to seal the vow eternally
of my love everlasting.
Too soon the dawn will break.
Hurry do the last of spells.
Hop over n i n e fences
kirtle tied around my waist.
Don’t look, don’t speak
just hold my breath.
No time for sleep, not yet
I mustn’t forget the rite itself,
that will grant my dreams to unveil.
What’s written in the future
s e v e n blooms under my pillow.
and finally I’ll see...
...the one
It’s tradition to post this not this day or night... Originally from June 2012, the night before my birthday. For the not initiated, just know that Swedes take their Midsummer rites very seriously.
