To you , Hestia , I have gi ed endurance And the fruits of a long life , like my dark Berries , that carry the bloom of my years And ooze with my blood as they fall when Summer deepens into Autumn . I breathe The sun ’ s molten fire through my hollow Stems , to warm your golden heart . You Are the lustre of harvest wheat fields ; The germ of life in every kernel you grind At the quern with strong arms , kneaded By your skilful hands into daily bread .
To you , the Virgin Mary , I have only shared Sorrow as my legacy ; for my trunk and Branches bore the dead weight of your Lost son ’ s body as you wept for him at my Feet ; my shoulders bent and bowed under The burden of your pain . But I gave you my Strength as yours was sapped , and our Bond was rooted deep in the earth so we Together stood tall through death ’ s winter To witness the rebirth of new life .
Together , my daughters , we have branched Forth , nurturing offshoots gra ed from our Shared maternal rootstock : our descendants Are everywhere this late spring ; in hedgerows , Fields and cities . For , in us , the casually- Scattered seed of heedless lost gods still Lives on : sheltered by our weather-beaten Leaves , clasped in our entwined arms .