translated from The Book of Lycan Poetry

There happens upon a time when
the earth, and the air, and the minerals and the leaves
of Gaia
Hail the glorious sky, remember the victorious dead
lift a horn and drink
to love and life and laughter.
Cabers are flipped straighter. The stane tossed further.
The sheaf put higher off the fork.
Flowing dresses lose their footing
on curves. From shoulders. Creeping towards edges.
Flushed. Muscles strain urging blood to flow faster.
it does. Gasps and pleased sighs always follow. Always.
When the veil is first thin, after being closed off.
For Persephone the Spring She Wolf has returned
And all the Nymphs with her.
-Oryn