Ever changing, shining bright,
Goddess of the Silver Light,
Hear my words, hear my prayers,
With this poem I here do share,
And mark my words forever sown,
The Maiden, Mother and the Crone.

Blessed be, so full of life,
Never once so full of strife.
Maiden tartness, bright and young,
A brand new verse still unsung.
A budding flower still ungrown,
The Maiden, Mother and the Crone.

Blessed be, so round and plump,
Never once thought a frump,
Gravid, blushing, ripe allure,
Too many words in literature.
A flower that is fully grown,
The Maiden, Mother and the Crone.

Blessed be, now so wrinkled,
In your eyes a merry twinkle.
Drooping breast and brown age-spots,
With all the wrath you have wrought.
An aging flower's wisdom known,
The Maiden, Mother and the Crone.