If the wind carries the message
From the horns of the waxing moon
Then darkness is as light to her
The dark couldn't come too soon
In and as the cold light of the sun
Demeter weeps for her child
Sings with the birds, the chevron shape
From rebirth of the earth spring her smiles
If Persephone plows her own body
Gives herself back into the soil
Then she needs no possessive man or place
As death for the underworld