Nary a man a Witch can be
nor Witch a Wizard, don’t you see?
For t’was thus ordained above,
this great natural law called Love
that from man to woman is the flow
and as such, always has been so.
Into whose hands are babies born
and who gathers the eggs on frosty morn?
T’is she who knows the herb that cures.
and guess who, that trusty cauldron stirs.
Comes now the Woman of the Moon;
it’s Her planter’s orb in June.
By wind and fire, rain and earth,
all God’s creatures know Her worth.
All that live are born in strife,
But She’s the One who nurtures life.
Thank you Goddess for the Witches
By just their being, our life enriches.
Think not there’s something I’ve forgotten;
it’s the fact that we ‘re all begotten
You see, from that piece of Adam’s rib
comes the hand that rocks the crib.
Surely there’s one thing now we know.
"Move over Wizard; it’s Her show."
