I call to Modron of the many faces,
Modron of deep roots and scattered seeds, Modron
mother of Mabon, mistress of field and harvest,
mistress of the river deep and wide, washer
at the shore, granter of the right of rule.
Modron of the dim-lit hill, subtle and enduring,
wise elder daughter of the faery king,
born to the isle of apple-trees, to a world
we see in shadows alone, a world we know
through the broken visions of poet and bard.
Modron, gracious goddess, friend of mother and child,
friend of the bereft, I praise and honor you.