Prayer to Robigo

Spare Ceres grain, O scabby Robigo, let the tips of sprouting shoots gently quiver above rich soil. Let the crops grow, nurtured in turn as each star passes through the heavens, until full and ripe they are readied for the scythe. Your power is not light. What grain You touch, the farmer notes as lost. Spare them, I pray. May You not grasp the crops, but embrace hard iron. Destroy first whatever else is able to destroy. Better to seize the destructive spear and sword. Do not violate Ceres, but allow the farmer time to fulfill his vows for Your absence.