As our festival for Vesta comes to a close, I offer the following poem.
O Dea Vesta, goddess of the formless fire,
present in every flame visible to the eye:
I have no focus, no hearth of my own,
no place to invite you, O Goddess, into my life.
I pray that you may help to clear the way
for me to have such a shrine to you,
that I may move the flame I bear for you
from my heart to the visible fire amidst stones.
May all who walk upon the earth
have the safety of your warmth every night,
and may all who already have a place for you
honor you, and manage their fires prudently.
Oldest in Greece, youngest in Rome,
great goddess Vesta, all praises to you!