I call to Rhiannon of whom old tales are told,
Rhiannon of full fame, whose name is a melody,
whose spirit sings through the years, through the hills and vales
of lands green and ancient. From the fairy mound you rose,
O goddess, astride your dainty-footed steed,
your ramble seeming slow and yet so swift,
arrayed in fine silks, well draped in bright gold,
a fairer figure never stood upon the sod.
Rhiannon of legends, Rhiannon of sorrows,
you know of betrayal, you know of the heart’s loss,
you know of the will to seek the right and the true.
Peerless goddess, noble and wise, I honor you.

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