When the orchard's bloom
Is sent aloft en masse
On the breezes of April
With its beckoning call
I scatter the embers
Of Ostara's blaze
Which died with the winter
But roars in my spirit still
Is sent aloft en masse
On the breezes of April
With its beckoning call
I scatter the embers
Of Ostara's blaze
Which died with the winter
But roars in my spirit still
Deities awoken in the circle of spring
By a phallic triumph at the womb of Beltane
Commence a grand feasting
To an era of warmth
With the birth of the sun
And the bountiful season
At the shrinking of shadows
At the lengthening of days
With the green on the boughs reappearing
By the silvery dew
A call resounds from the horizon
Heralding in an upward arc
A decree towards the west
For all of man to hear
"Begone, frost and gloom!
I bring growth and light
Rich and plentiful
May your harvests be."
Commence a grand feasting
To an era of warmth
With the birth of the sun
And the bountiful season
Deities awoken in the circle of spring
By a phallic triumph at the womb of Beltane
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