Ice be over-cold, unmeasurably slippery;
glisteneth clear as glass, to gems likest;
a floor by frost wrought, fair to be seen.
This song was written originally for Lughnassadh, but I see it as speaking to losses from wartime regardless of season.
Need is nearest to the breast
yet often proves to children of men
a source of help and healing
if they heed it betimes.
This play was put on as part of a spring equinox rite with Stone Creed Grove, and it seemed appropriate to put the script out there. Part of this is an attempt to in a small way revive the great tradition of Greek theater that had its main celebration at around this time, at the City Dionysia. This script does not strictly follow all the rules of Greek theater - for instance, the satyrs don't really act as a traditional Greek chorus, but it's at least fun. Without further ado:
Hail is the whitest of grain;
it is whirled from heaven's loft
tossed about by wind gusts,
then melts into water.