In the Still of the Night
So, as the month of June advanced,
The old woman made her preparations.
Then one night she plodded up the hill.
At the top she lit her fire.
And made a small hangi.
She waited, watching, listening,
And dreaming of the old days,
When she did not sit alone.
And when the night was at its darkest,
She raised her eyes to the sky.
There were the seven sisters,
Bright new stars, espaliered across the heavens,
Heralding a new year.
The old woman broke open her hangi,
And offered up the good food,
To strengthen the young stars.
Then she bowed her head in thank to Io.
For the stars and the old ceremony,
Was part of her heritage …
Who cares about feeding the stars now,
When man has forgotten the old ways,
In a frenzied reaching for the moon.