Under the full moon we are strong and dance with joy. The moon joins in our revelries. But as the moon wans so do we. The new moon is a time of mourning, and a child is born as the moon grows again.

The child is of light and darkness. A beautiful marriage of night and day. Her hair of night and fair skin of day. She shines with a gentle grace through the forest. She was our beloved Queen.

But like the moon, she also waned. So strong and sweet turns to old and gray. With her last breath she sings a song. To her newborn child, and the cycle moves along.