© Maria Traxler 2004

She twisted a dance of fire and death

and fire and death she wove

into a cloak for herself alone

which she placed in her fiery trove.

And her dance was the dance of anger and flame

which left a burning path

across the lands her footsteps in

and none dared her fiery wrath.

Her wrath was the wrath of burning and smoke

and thieves that treasure steal:

a glimpse of the goddess herself, uncloaked:

this he had no right to reveal.

Her cloak was the cloak of burning fire

with rubies covering the cloth

and the cloth was made with bronze wire

that came from her forge, Virath.

And her hunt was the hunt of anger ablaze

not knowing Fate's dark plan:

and she saw the thief, then in amaze

she stared and she turned and she ran.

The thief was the thief of hearts and of love,

who she had no wish to see:

but later she knew that this battle was lost

and then, who came dancing but he!

His dance was a dance of fire and love,

and as she watched, enthralled,

he danced his way to next to her

but then the Great Goddess called.

Her call was the call of trumpets and song,

and all ever paid her heed

and the Fiery One picked up her cloak

while the Fire-Thief wished her speed.

Her speed was the speed of flame piercing night

and at her holy Mother's feet,

she asked, "What need is there of me,

for my parting was not sweet?"

And then Yáretá's smile was a smile of fate,

of the fate that she held in her hand,

and she said, "Take your Children with this one,

and there shall be your dwelling-land."

And she pointed with an arm that has held many swords,

to a land beyond the High Home,

"There shall be your family's place,

where you and your Children shall roam."

Now her joy was the joy of returning from exile

to what one loves with one's heart

and rushing to meet the Fire-Thief

she hoped never again would they part.

And now Viriet and Vírolo went to their home

with the Children of Viriet,

to a place they would live eternally,

and their dancing would never end.

But upon the last day of the third year

an attack upon them came;

and fire was against both of them used:

fiery demons and fiery rain.

Now their power was power of strength untold,

for from the Eleven she came;

and he was a prince of Ramoi

so the enemy they finally chained.

Now their tale is a tale that is not said here,

though their meeting has been told;

and none of the dragons could truly tell

the rest of this tale of old.

But listen, my friends, for the last word

is given by Yáretá:

"Remember, O people, this story true

and let not goddesses pass you by."