Nary a man a Witch can be
nor Witch a Wizard, donít you see?
For tíwas thus ordained above,
this great natural law called Love
that from man to woman is the flow
and as such, always has been so.
Into whose hands are babies born
and who gathers the eggs on frosty morn?
Tíis she who knows the herb that cures.
and guess who, that trusty cauldron stirs.
Comes now the Woman of the Moon;
itís Her planterís orb in June.
By wind and fire, rain and earth,
all Godís creatures know Her worth.
All that live are born in strife,
But Sheís the One who nurtures life.
Thank you Goddess for the Witches
By just their being, our life enriches.
Think not thereís something Iíve forgotten;
itís the fact that we Ďre all begotten
You see, from that piece of Adamís rib
comes the hand that rocks the crib.
Surely thereís one thing now we know.
"Move over Wizard; itís Her show."
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