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  • Writer's pictureErik Lugnet

Set the Thread to Weave


In twilight's dance, where shadows wane,

Hexennacht's veil begins to fade,

May Day emerges, a vibrant flame,

Amidst the whispers of spirits unchained.


On this liminal threshold, we stand,

Betwixt the worlds, in ancient lands,

Where Aryan hearts beat in time,

To rhythms of nature's grand design.


Beneath the boughs of Yggdrasil's might,

We gather, under the Northern light,

To honor Ancestors, wise and old,

Their tales woven in Runes of gold.


As the wheel of seasons turns anew,

We raise our voices, strong and true,

In celebration of life's enduring sway,

On this sacred, hallowed May Day.


With offerings made to Gods above,

We embrace the blessings of earth and love,

In the circle's bound, we find our place,

Bound by honour, kinship, and grace.


Through meadows blooming, fields arrayed,

We weave the threads of Wyrd's own braid,

In each blossom, a promise anew,

Of growth, of hope, of dreams pursued.


Twisting fates ‘round the pole,

Take the past, working what we sowed,

We wrap and bind ourselves,

To weave tomorrow for all else.


So let us revel in this sacred hour,

In the timeless dance of nature's power,

For on this May Day, we stand tall and free,

In reverence to our ancestry.








Folkbuilder Nicholas Rice

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