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Poem

Few times of the year are as glorified as this.
It is the Sabbath of Litha, the summer solstice.
Just two hours before dawn in the dark of morning,
among the witches gathered is a pretty thing.
With fiery red hair, she’s making my heart sing.
In a small clearing in the middle of the wood,
this young longhaired maiden looks much better than good.
The coven joins hands as they circle an oak tree.
The summer’s full moon light enhances her beauty.

You are the prettiest of the witches in your coven.
Seeing you sky-clad is getting me hotter than an oven.
Upon me, you must have cast a powerful spell.
It has control over me.  It is working well.
How I would like to join you in this early hour.
I don’t want a talisman to quash your power.
Seeing you revitalizes my energy.
May earth, air, water, and fire dwell in harmony.
Later this morning, won’t you spend some time with me?

I am not an adherent to witchcraft or any other form of neopaganism.

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