The Witch Alone

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 alters built
By hands of mortal men,
But in the misty, magic glade
Beyond the farthest glen.

What need has she of flashing swords,
Of crystals glowing bright,
Of censers 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 those she leaves her mortal shell
Of flesh and blood and bone,
She knows she does not die, but lives

On as the Witch Alone...

by Scott Cunningham