I call to Meduna of the patient vale,
Meduna of the tangled vine, the crimson fruit,
the gift of the single-minded bee, the drink
of poets and of kings. Meduna of transcendence
and of fury, of madness and delight, goddess
honey-sweet and fair, a joy to men and women,
a breath of inspiration, a goad to those who strive.
Meduna of the red hills and the riverside,
of the land that holds tight to memory,
that coils its roots with earth and stone, in days long lost
your image stood in stone, worn smooth by prayerful hands;
this day I offer you my reverence and praise.