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Beyond the town, beneath the moon

Beside the standing stone,

There lives a woman, fair of faith

We call the Witch Alone


She sings to Sun and Moon and Stars

And gathers herbs and weeds

With which she fashions ancient charms

And other magick deeds


She worships not by altars built

By hands of mortal men

But in the misty, magick glade

Beyond the furthest glen


What need has she of flashing swords

Of crystals glowing bright

Of censors and of colored cords

That grace the Wiccan rite


Her tools are fashioned from the Earth

And Wind and Fire and Rain:

Her rites are dances wild and free

That call the Gods amain


When Spring and Summer pass to Fall,

And twilight fills her eyes,

She'll lie upon the browning grass

And smile as she dies

For though she leaves her mortal shell

Of flesh and blood and bone,

She knows she does not die, but lives.....


On as the Witch Alone.



"A Witch Alone" - Scott Cunningham,1973