Round about the Witching Hour
Shadows hold their darkest power
Upon those wandering souls alight
Soaring through the darkest nights.
As snow lays soft cover on fallen leaves
Quietly as a dagger slid home in its sheath
To hide the ground till crocus bloom
And keep cold the wind while Winter looms.
While all the forest life does slumber
So the ice does not their feet encumber
We move about on broomsticks light
Soaring through the coldest nights.
Though Springs sweet sun, still far away
Will warm the nights and heat the days
Just for now while the cold wind blows
We'll revel in the ice and snow.
For after Summer comes Autumn Moon
When we reap the harvest sown in June
While Jack~O~Lanterns light chilly nights
And Witches ready brooms for flight.
Ok. So. A bit about me. Hmmm. My name is Amber and I live in Groton, CT which is a miserable place. I'm marrying the most wonderful, sexy, loving man in the world on St. Patricks Day. His name is David and I love him more than words could ever explain. I have a beautiful, five year old daughter. She's smart as a whip and comes out with the most hilarious things sometimes. I will soon have a beautiful, two year old stepdaughter as well. I'm a personal tattooist and a professional bartender, and love my work. Things are coming together perfectly for us.
For all those who died-
stripped naked, shaved, shorn.
For all those who screamed
in vain to the great Goddess
only to have their tongues
ripped out by the root.
For all those who were pricked, racked, broken on the wheel
for the sins of their Inquisitors.
For all those whose beauty
stirred their torturers to fury;
& for all those whose ugliness did the same.
For all those who were neither ugly nor beautiful,
but only women who would not submit.
For all those quick fingers
broken in the vise.
For all those soft arms
pulled from their sockets.
For all those budding breasts
ripped with hot pincers.
For all those midwives killed merely for the sin
of delivering man
to an imperfect world.
For all those witch-women, my sisters,
who breathed freer
as the flames took them,
knowing as they shed
their female bodies,
the seared flesh falling like fruit
in the flames,
that death alone would cleanse them
of the sin for which they died
the sin of being born a woman,
who is more than the sum of her parts.
Erica Jong,
out of her book-WITCHES.
:::
