Grandmother Moon

Simmering the cauldron
In the sky above the mountain,
What are you stirring,
Grandmother, all alone?
You've added music,
A memory, a milestone,
You've tasted the succulent
season of the stars,
You stir poetic potential
into the matrix of the moment,
Calling the Mother, the Virgin, and the Crone
Calling the starseed, the wise ones,
The childmind,
Calling the scattered remnant of the tribe,
What are you stirring
In the moonbright cauldron?
Stirring the homepath
spilled across the night,
Stirring the waybright story of the light.