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I call to bright Maponus, son of the mother,
beautiful one; with mindfulness and wonder
you look upon the world, you live each day
as if it were the first, as if you had lived them all.
Companion of the huntress, the craft of the wild
is yours; you know as well the arts of mankind,
Maponus who plays so sweetly upon the harp.
So long ago did men and women stand
among the stones, offering you their gifts and their praise,
praying for your favor; Maponus of noble name,
whose feet are rooted in the ancient earth,
whose shadow falls on each new day, I honor you.
Fieldstones 