Lughnasadh Poem © Raven Spirit 2002 Waning days Waving grain The summer months begin to fade The horned one walks to the shades Day of first fruits You reap what you sow Is your grain all bland Or with flavor, you know Nine months we have nurtured And cared for our goals Now we are birthing Like mother and foal The seeds we have planted Watered and helped grow We now begin harvesting The seeds we have sown But the growing is not over More cycles to pass So weed your fields Err it be your ass Tis a time of great merriment Games to be played To honor the ancients And the wisdom they say Hail to Fair Tailltiu For whom the games are named That tests the skill and knowledge of both me and you