|April 18 is my grandmother's birthday, and I often remember her with a special dinner. Treat your dearly departed to a special evening, featuring a glorious table, a bountiful feast, and this poem:
"A place at the table, a hollowed meal,
The sideboard groans with our repast.
We set a place with favorite foods and wait for the old ones to come at last.
With cauldron filled and candles lit, we revel in the passing hours.
As minutes pass and mists arise, we open to the old ones' powers.
The hours strike, the time is come-
The night falls dark and quiet and still.
A whispered touch, a puff of wind...
The old ones come to work their will.
The leave as softly as they have come, fading back into the veil.
The feast for them, a magick night!
We sit and share the old ones' tales."