Moon Priestess

Where now the columns that lifted
Their snowy tops to the sacred Moon?
Where now the walls, writ over with
Runes of power and virtue?
Where now the altars, cunningly carved,
Which smoked with incense and sacrifices?
Where now the priestesses and their chants,
Singing songs of praise to the holy Selene?

Her Brother, Bright Phoebus, has traversed the sky
Day after untold day.
The countless leaves have fallen to the forest floor
And turned to dust and mold,
And blown through the sanctified doors,
Till all that remains is broken stone and whispering ghosts.
Lonely are the ancient spirits, crying their pious lament:
We have ne’er forgot Thee, Huntress Maid!

  • — Harper Ganesvoort

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