Lady of the Sacred Grove
Whose footprints mark the soft moss
Wherever gather the trees of the Sacred Grove.
Silver are your words as the birch,
Bright is your smile as the berries of rowan,
Tall is your height as the ash,
Hot is your frown like the ashes of alder,
Graceful is your walk as the willow,
Cruel is your blade as the thorn,
Strong is your grasp as the oak,
Sharp is your prick like the holly,
Hard is your shell like the hazel,
Sweet is your mouth as the grapevine,
Twisted is your hair like the ivy,
Eerie is your song as the reed,
Wise is your touch as the elder.
Long ago, they came to you,
Goddess of the grove, Lady of leaf and blood,
And your blade took their short lives
And added it to those of the long-lived trees,
Whose Earth this was first.
So we give you blood today, Lady,
That you shall understand, even now,
That we do not forget your gifts.

Song: Song of the Trees

(All shall come forth to the altar, and the cups shall be taken up and carried outside in procession, until all are standing and singing under the trees. Then shall the libations be poured out onto the Earth.)

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From Pagan Book of Hours, paganbookofhours.org