within our hands we hold the threats of fate
woven like all, from the eternal, never-changing web
we raise our arms in gratitude to those
we may not see, but know within our souls
are ever with us.
within the Lady’s bellied pot
we mix the herbs, the spices of our lives
feeling each single part within our hands
taking the moment to our hearts
and raise the power
we dance when needed, or when dance feels right
among the wondrous panoply of stars
or sometimes ‘neath a burning candle’s light
we dance, we raise the power
and in due course, the power is cast
to point of need.
woman or man, we feel the taste of every time
each season in its turn
and though the tinny taste of winter on the tongue
is bringing chilly promises of snow
we know, in turn, that as the wheel turns
the Spring will come again.
we feel the winds of life that lift us
and we ride them, hard or gently.
we are not blown by these,
we ride the winds
the weavers of our lives.
we are witch.
we ride the winds indeed.
copyright sama 2010