Musings of a Massachusetts Witch



A young virile hunter, this balefire:

Enveloped in a red orange cloak of passion,

Arms stretching eagerly towards Her dark tresses,

Growing aggressively with the gentle caress of Her breath.

He is impatient, the way he prepares


The entire clan of gathered pagan folk

Merry, lusty and carefree

In their celebration of fruitfulness and prosperity,

The sacred marriage of Cernunnos and Gaia

Nothing is more joyous


Giving everyone a purifying blessing.

They all should pass between the fire, bathe in juniper smoke.

This is time for feasting, rejoicing and frivolity.

When they tie the bells, they jingle.

Their brilliant, cheery song


Chasing wee folk, faery lore heeds,

Around the pole the dancers prance.

Remember pink primrose from the garden,

Weaving chains of daisies for the young

Keeping marauding faeries away.


They blend the honey

Sweet and raw, add yeast and ferment.

The lips of the pagan folk drink with intoxication.

Six months waiting for bottled cheer.

Ah! The feast of May Day is finally here!