The second candle is your forest spring, anchored in the well of wisdom.

The third candle is your healing hands and your singing heart.

The fourth candle is the milk white cow of red ears, engorged with a mother's sweet nectar.

The fifth candle is the majestic oak, a pillar of strength bridging the worlds.

The sixth candle is the lamb in every pasture, the womb of every hope.

The seventh candle is your will of black iron, forged in determination.

The eighth candle is your white swan voice, the soul of the harp.

The ninth candle is the grief for your child that brought keening to this world.

The tenth candle is your green mantle, spread across your lands.

The eleventh candle is your bright anvil of flame, shaping and bending.

The twelfth candle is the hearth fire smoored, guarding household and herd.

The thirteenth candle is the speckled snake, forecasting the arrival of spring.

The fourteenth candle the milky dandelion, gaily notched with sun's delight.

The fifteenth candle is midwife oyster catcher, page between the worlds.

The sixteenth candle is your white hand dipped in the darkest well, the breath of life to the death of winter.

The seventeenth candle is the fire in the head, heralding wisdom and inspiration.

The eighteenth candle is the auguries through your piped hands, foretelling things to come.

The last is your first, your eternal flame, blazing high and clear on altars everywhere.

May the blessing of your light be upon us, light without us, light within us, this day and every day, this night and every night.