As above, and so below,
deosil now the witches go.
In a spiral, we'll dance the dance,
come beat the drum, chant the chants.

We're ladies, masters, pagans all,
old ones, wise ones hear our call.
Four candles lit with love and care,
earth and fire, water air.

The circle cast, as in times of old,
The altar draped with silver and gold.
Bell, book and incense, a pentacle tile,
offered to you by your magickal child.

Robed but barefoot, arms raised high,
looks to the heavens, speaks to the sky.
You're ever knowing, and always near,
we bid thee forth to join us here.

She's soft as a feather or hard as stone,
Hail to the mother, Hail to the crone!
No moon will shine this long winters night,
we meet in the shadows, out of their sight.

The sacred wheel takes another turn,
icy winds howl, and the cauldrons burn.
Gathered to share the ancient ways,
wisdom grows with each new phase.

The rite is at end, skies soon to turn pale,
merriment takes over, toasting with ale.
Blessed be dear friend my wish for thee,
for this is my will.......So mote it be!

Willow Dancer
3-8-2000


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