Poem: Hymn to Hera

O you with your cloth of gold, the turquoise
feathers of that Persian bird. The forests
raise their limbs in orans to you, white wool
garlanding them in blessedness. O sky
the mother of seasons, lady of clouds,
dusk your cloak, your bright neck strung with onyx
and amber. You wax and wane the phases
of a woman’s life, open the birth gate,
give strength to the mother. Eldest daughter
of Earth and time who shelters the cuckoo
may we remember the might of women
and remember you are also delight —