Cycles

Star (translated from a song in Elvish)

The gentle dance of our maturing
The balanced passing time.
At every stage of our learning
We make our powers strong
And who would stand
To block this growing light...
Despite those in our path
Our powers grow.

For every maid keeps her chastity
A woven cloak of pride
But still in time,
With tender yearning
She may yet be a bride
And who would stay
Her heart from searching?
The mother now to play,
Her powers grow.

The Mother stands, so peacefully,
Between the maid and crone
She bides her time
With gentle nurturing
Her child and her man...
But who would stand
To block her way
Can never understand
Her powers grow.

One gentle Hag
Who watches children stray
And calmly bides her time
Teaches all the maids and mothers
A woman in her prime.
Yet some might stand
To take this gift of Life
Mated so close to Death
Her powers grow.

A youthful lad enthusiastically
Wields a sword of pride
Yet sees a maid
Then he drops the sword
To ask her for her hand
What beastly soul
Would take that day from him?
The father joins the dance
His powers grow.

A patient man, wedded to his lass
Cares for her and hers
He makes his plans to carry out his life
And giving Fate his chance
But who would steal
This preparation...
The security still stands
His powers grow.

And now the Sage
Lays him down a-bed
And with a pen he writes
His future known,
He is happy here,
All knowledge in his hands
But who would wrest
Away his paper...
Not the wisdom from his mind
His powers grow.