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| The Witch Alone Beyond the town, beneath the moon Beside the standing stone. There lives a woman, fair of faith We call the witch alone. She sings to sun and moon and stars And gathers herbs and weeds With which she fashions ancient charms And other magick deeds. She worships not at alters built By hands of mortal men. But in the misty glade Beyond the farthest glen. What need she has of flashing swords, Of cystals glowing bright. Of censors and of colored cords, That grace the wiccan rite? Her tools are fashioned of the earth, And wind and fire and rain. Her rites are dances wild and free, That call the Gods amain. When spring and summer pass to fall, And twilight fills her eyes, She'll lie upon the browning grass, And smile as she dies. For though she leaves her mortal shell, Of flesh and blood and bone, She knows she does not die, but lives On , as the Witch alone... Scott Cunningham |
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