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I call to good Arawn, lord of the afterward,
lord of the last breath; to the furrow and the grave
you hold the deed. Older than old, fairer than fair,
your hounds give voice in the night, in the dark, crying
the dead to Annwn. Patient one, yours are the roadways,
twisted and turned, yours the footsteps of the lost,
yours the dark paths that lead from all places to one end.
Arawn who waits, who knows the worth of a good friend,
whose hall holds all that lies buried in the cold earth,
may your might be remembered, your fame regained,
your name again spoken in reverence and awe;
Arawn of the tangled tales, I praise and honor you.
Fieldstones 