The Commitment of Stewardship

In the weaving of the world, the Mothers beheld the forming of circles;Of kin and care, of soil and soul, of freedoms and firewood.To each they whispered: What you hold is not yours alone.You are not rulers, but stewards. Not owners, but keepers of breath and bloom.

To tend a circle is to accept a sacred charge;To care for its people, and renew what is entrusted:The fields, the rights, the waters, the bonds.What is held must not be spent, but nourished for those to come.

When a circle walks in rhythm with this breath,Its boundaries shall be honored from without.No voice may command what it does not mend.From this respect, identity is born:Not declared, but revealed in what is kept and renewed.

Let the realm who calls itself sovereignPlant trees whose shade it will never see.Let the keeper of a single fireLeave embers for hands not yet born.

But hear the second breath: with freedom comes duty.Let no circle consume what it cannot restore.Those who build and bless walk close to the sacred.Those who hoard or silence dim their own flame.