Death sings the song of Goodbye;
that ancient steadfast crone,
chanting her prayer for last breaths.
Old lady death waits at the end of the cycle.
Like a wolf howling low, mournfully,
for something she once knew,
so sings Death the song of Goodbye.
A slow decay, a rapid disappearance,
still the song resounds and echoes
its melancholy message.
She sings in the night and her voice
carries on the wind.
The trees echo her song, bones do too.
The faceless dark Moon blankets the heart
in black stillness.
Shadows loom, but they look familiar.
Death sings the song of what was known.
What once was, what could have been.
Death sings to call in the future,
the rebirth, the new,
the freshly cleansed space.
She sings and sings
until the first whispering rays
of the waxing Moon Maiden
reach the Shadow
and replace it with Light.
The Lady, the All Powerful,
has done her work.
She has sung us home
to the present
into the future
And the past slips away with her.
Persephone, inescapable guardian,
still singing, has bid her quiet goodbye.