To Avalon! To Avalon!

Mist swirls in ever increasing spirals,
The pole man brings the pole forward,
My robes rustle as I raise my arms,
Calling up the magic.

The barge slowly moves,
The mists obscure the shore,
The slight noise of the water rippling,
Centering myself.

The mists still as the barge waits,
The magic is called,
The water mirrors my every move,
A deep breath is taken,
And I say the words of power.

The woad crescent on my brow flares,
Faded as it is,
Channeling the goddess,
Parting the mists to my home in the north.

To Avalon! To Avalon!
To our home in the mists,
To the Tor and the winding path,
To the priestesses in blue,
The maidens so sweet and pure.

To my island home,
Where Cerdwin reigns,
Our mother the goddess,
And the god our father.

Home before Samhain,
Home before Yule.
Home before Imbolc,
Home before Ostara.

Home before Beltaine,
Home before Litha.
Home before Lughnasadh,
Home before Mibahn.

Back to the apple groves,
The holy well,
The druids and priestesses,
And the holy rites of the flesh.
the last true believers,
Home to the goddess herself,
Home to the god himself.

Avalon,
Home to us all.