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 magic deeds

She worships not at altars built

By hands of mortal men

But in the misty glade

Beyond the farthest glen

What need has she of flashing swords

Of crystals glowing bright

Of censors and of colored cords

That grace the wiccan rite?

Her tools are fashioned from 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.…



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