Not dog, but goddess-star, she calls the flood
Down through the old year's drained & dying lands,
Spilling inundation from her hands
Until our fields lie deep in Kemet's blood.

Bright & brightest mother of the dawn,
Fairest of all the thirty-six who claim
A sacred segment of the night sky's fame,
She rises fertile as her image drawn

Between these lesser lights: celestial cow
Whose milk divides the black land from the red
Accursed desert. Make the days ahead
Boisterous with celebration! We know how

Rome dreads the Great Dog's scorching -- let us show
Their dog star loved us first & best, & still
Sustains us by the bounty of her will
Made manifest in our life-river's flow.