by: R. Catherine
Under the witching moon, she chants the ancient song.
Singing to the twilight sky to bring a lover home.
A maiden fair had come to her desparate in her plea.
Longing for her gentle lad, who seeks his fortune out at sea.
“Bring him home!”, she said, “To fill my heart and warm my bed.”
With eyes glowing, a firebright, the witch woman spoke into the night.
“Caution, dear.” In somber tone, echoing in the deeping wood.
“Pure, the love you have must be for this magick to do any good.
Should any other kind prevail, obsession will give way to greed.
Selfish desire turns passion to madness that will forever control the head.”
“You have my word, this love is true.” tears in the maid’s sapphire eyes.
With one last word the spell was done and cast off into distant skies.
She watched as the maiden fair disappeared into the mist,
and looked down at a familiar figure that arched and gave a reproachful hiss.
“I tried my best.” The witch woman shrugged winking at her lover moon.
For she knew full well the lover’s fate would begin with the rising sun.
A watery bed awaited the maid, her blood on the hands of the gentle lad.
For pure a love must always be if using magic to force fate’s hand.
Into the darken woods the witching woman wandered on.
Shedding robes she tipped her hat, to dance bare under the witching moon.