The feast prepared, the silver laid.
The fires of the shortest day.
Porcelain. China. Crystal shines!
The crescent moon to mark the time.
Silks are spread upon the altar,
Wine and mead for warmth and laughter.
Heaven’s gates then open wide,
Giving way to the rushing tide
Of all the Ancient Ones who view
The lives below, both old and new.
The royal family of the Source!
Who once again now journey forth
Seeking those with open hearts
Who are clearly set apart.
Streaking ‘cross the skies, They come!
Still united, all as one –
Taking note and weighing all
In the Age of Man’s Downfall.
Now They knock upon the door.
And I open, as before –
Never bothering to hide
My deepest soul from Their shining eyes.
When the choice has then been made,
I offer gifts and treasures laid
Upon my humble quiet place
Within my tiny sacred space.
And I sat with Those from Heaven!
Giving thanks for lessons given,
Blessings varied and unseen,
And the strength to climb the Tree.
We danced and sang within the light,
Suddenly abundant on that night.
And I was honored to hear the tales
Brought on starry wings and sails.
Join us, children – young and told
Where many secret tales are told!
And Those Who ride and lead the way
From longest night to longest day!
Poetry Copyright © 2020 by Ena Whiteraven All rights reserved.
Image: found online, artist unknown
