Laying under the midnight blue sky,
Staring up at the ink black canvas,
Soon the art begins to draw me,
As pale moonlight indicates Ourania's caress.

Inspiration falls like gentle rain,
A mist of hope from She of the aspects Three,
The Cleaver of Secrets knows all thoughts,
Maiden, Mother and Crone, in all she be.

In the realm of darkest night,
The Shadow cannot exist without Her light,
Seering, seeking, revealing and healing,
Lady Ourania shines beyond bright.

Opposition fades from Her rage,
A roaring rumble rings a thunder's peal,
Scything and tearing She smites those down,
That would ever against Her Chosen bring steal.

A guiding hand, not a twister of fate-
Cold, calm appraisal, but judgement fair.
Chill your bones, and freeze your blood,
She'll guide you through, She'll see you there.

Hail the Beacon! Praise the Enigma!
Salute ye the will-o-the-wisps in Her temple deep,
Secure your soul to Lady Ourania,
It will be with endless joy that you shall weep.

Penned by my hand on the 10th of Sarapin, in the year 442 AF.