To Demeter I call:
Mother of seasons
Will of the land
Which brings forth
And does not bring forth

Oversee the stars, O Demeter
Passing into the belly of Gaia
They shoot up again, in due time, newly alive
The seasons are their fruit

You are life to the dead
Those who sleep where they are planted
And you are death to the living
Those who wait for the harvest
Harken, O Scythe-bearer
Be favorable, O Mother of the Golden Sword
So that as surely as death must follow
The picking of a lovely blossom
As surely as your daughter returns with the rain
That when I, like scattered barley,
Am given to the ground
I shall not dwell forever there
In the dark and silent Earth

Bend the law, O Lawgiver
That death should not forever keep me
But rather, through the power of Argeiphontes
Return me, a child again
To the shining world above.

More from the visual artist who did the image here: https://www.flickr.com/photos/helenbar/