The Charge of the WildWood

Deep beneath the shade and power
Of this Tree we call our Tower,
Day is fleeting, shadows fall,
Across the path our feet touch all.
End to end this Circle's path,
Blazing, shining as we laugh,
Dance the merry round with spark,
As we Witches tread the Dark
Wheel turning, eight-rayed sun,
Spiral-serpents birth the One,
Crescent Moon lays down Her claim,
To Her Lover hanging lame.
And we the Witches of WildWood,
Stand where ancient stones once stood,
Now the Greening seeks the Grove
And that which rests in treasure trove.

© 2006