Plz fan SweetEnigma's blog: "Wiccan Poems"

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."

I leave my cares and world behind And drift away with a wandering mind To a place where dreams come true Where the grass is green and the sky is blue Then a gentle breeze brushes my face As I wander through this gentle place Where birds and bees sing in the trees And the grass bends with a gentle breeze A song is sung but in natures way One that is heard when children play One that is carried forth for all to hear But heard by those who know no fear It plays both in day and also at night You don't use your ears or need a light Close your eyes for it is all around Open your heart and it will be found Once it is heard it won't just go away It won't leave you alone not for a day Its source can't be found but still you will look Beneath every rock and the babbling brook Try as you might and look where you can And when you are finished go look again For this magickal sound and wondrous place Is often hidden right in front of our face But though it is so simple often it's missed And I have heard people say it doesn't exist Still there are others who smile and know Of the song that is sung and where they should go They know this world is created with only a thought Not with something borrowed or something bought So in their mind's eye they create it with will What wonders await us just over the hill

Oh, wild lonely places of sweet dread delight That call to my Children on Halloween night In whispering wind wisps and whipporwill plight Tickling the treetops where moonbeams alight. Come hither, ye Witches, on silver light fly! Don't dawdle, don't saunter, don't idly stroll by! Lift your skirts as seer gusts catch the leaves dead and dry Rise up with the wind soaring hasty on high! Ride ye thus to the hollow in the wood dark and deep Where all merry parted shall now merry meet. At the time 'twas appointed that time shall ye keep To honor me, hail me in great esbat fete. When the moon sailing bright in the dark midnight blue Casts her spell on the landscape, reversing each hue, And the scent of the night gives the magickal clue To the circle make haste, give Hecate her due! Dance wild, draw the power and shape in a cone, Till the power is thine and the will is thine own Then hurl't to the wind that thy purpose be flown And thy wish shall I grant on the Night of the Crone. One and all then come hither and join the great feast Where within all are welcome: Spirit, Human, and Beast. Give hail and farewell to the souls since deceased Then wend thy way home 'fore the Sun tints the East. But remember, my Children, remember quite clear The sound of my voice ringing high in your ear. 'Tis my summoning call in the owl's hoot you hear To meet merry again on All Hallow's next year.