On my Walk

On my walk I find You,
Menhir, Old, great stone,
Lazily plays the summer sun on your mossy fur,
And tender young birch stems
Make you seem ever larger and older. 

Who raised you up?
Who laid your sister next to you?
What promises have you heard? 
Between you, you and her?
What for offerings have you received?

At a birch at the ground a circle of flour,
In it two fern leaves nicely crossed:
Two cut here their covenant,
Before the one Great Mother,
Who births life and devours it.

Remember me, standing stone,
Of a peace without weapons,
Of an existence without fight,
Of man and woman equal in being,
Of good and evil in balance.  

And may I help your sister up?