A Witch's Song

A witch’s song

Come Mothers, daughters, sisters and friends.

Come gather your brooms we must make amends.

We’ll carefully sweep away ghosts of the past,

And help to create a Love that will last.

Now is the time, Dear Sister Witches,

To teach the ones, those who wore breeches.

Others who donned the rich robes of power.

Those who thought it our final hour.

But they were so wrong witches don’t die!

We are here now again we will fly.

Our hands will gather the herbs that can heal,

Tend to our loved ones, prepare a good meal.

We’ll honour again our Sister the Moon,

Her fine silver rays the threads of the loom.

Delight in the beauty of Dear Mother Earth.

Gather the fuel to light up the hearth.

Stoke the ovens to bake the fine bread.

There are ever so many who need to be fed

Starved by years of constant oppression,

Wrongly accused of evil possession.

By jealous, greedy, power hungry people,

Who passed their judgement from pulpit and steeple.

They were the ones who poisoned the Earth.

Ending our lives ‘twas they cast the curse.

For wise people know, the time has now come,

For men and women to join as one.

For Witches don’t die, we’re here again,

Restoring the balance to women and men.

In honour of all the innocent men women and children, wrongly accused of evil doings.

Who suffered and died at the hands of ignorant and misguided souls.

© Brigette Heywood 2000 (Birdy)