The Harvest has ended, the fields are bare.
The earth grows cold, and stark, and spare.
The gods of death remain with us,
keeping watch over the living.
They tutor us in patience,
for eternity is theirs.
Hail to you, O gods and goddesses
who guard the underworld
and guide the dead on their final journey.
In this time of cold and dark, we honour you,
and we value the transition from birth,
and to life beyond.
May the growing darkness
of the coming months
be a womb in which our best selves
can grow and mature.
May the wisdom ond serenity
of the Sage and the Crone,
and all of the ancients
abide within us.
May the love and fellowship of this circle
remain with us and keep us warm.