To Selene

I call to Selene, mistress of the silver moon,
sister of the sun, daughter of the elder gods,
sky-riding goddess, your white hands firm upon the reins,
guiding your pale chariot across the night sky,
your eyes like stars, your silken hair as black as night,
a shining crescent at your brow. Kind-hearted goddess,
beloved of beautiful Endymion,
your light falls ever on lovers’ silent trysts,
on kisses sweetly captured, on longed-for embraces.
As well you keep company with mothers in their
midnight walks, bringing your comfort to crying babe
and weary woman alike. Ever-changing one,
as you wax and wane do farmers plant their fields,
do women count their months, do witches work their spells.
Fair Selene, beacon in the great dark, I call to you.

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