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A full spring moon
They met, they danced
Firelight in their eyes
Into the dark, entranced

Forbidden by some
Natural to others
The canopy bowed down
While they bowed to each other

A meeting, a parting
The ritual of Spring
The Dance of the Wood
The Gift of the Trees

The belly soon swelled
The Mate most displeased
Steadfast she held to
The Rites for the Trees

Thus she departed
Kinward went she
Her belly, soft smile
Only reason they'd need

Babe borne in the woods
Dark skin, flame tressed
Unlike him, unlike her
Yet to her no distress

The kinfolk delighted
By this gift from the trees
Mingling of wood, moon and fire
Forest Child is she.