Hymn for the Triple Goddess
Hail, flax-haired maiden of nimble fingers,
who twirls disordered fibers into thread,
and skeins up lifelines on spinning spindles,
twining as one, living and never-dead.
Shape our beginnings to purposeful ends;
balance hues and humours with grace and strength;
tend our helixes of proteins coiled,
so our times be free of pulls, tears and rends,
and our silver cords run a happy length,
with measures of cheerful days unspoiled.
Hail, flame-haired matron of considered thought,
weaving bright threads in awesome tapestries.
Through your guidance is interaction wrought,
as cascading choices build destinies,
and lone strands conjoin in larger weavings —
the tussles of families, tribes and nations,
sword-clash, coin-clink, ship-sink and crying child,
mortal rage, greed… and sweeter imagings,
a teacher’s or inventor’s innovations,
which make life more compassionate, yet wild.
Hail, ash-haired grandmother with sharpened knives,
who shapes larger forms with unkind slices
that separate men from lovers and wives,
and cut off mothers from children’s faces.
By sword, by toxin, by wave and by wait,
you tie in final knots and cut our cords,
completing what began in new-born flesh.
Each thread feels your edge, whether soon or late,
each alone and each in numberless hordes.
Thank you, sweet ladies, for time in your mesh.