A
Coven @ Rosslyn
I
met the laird,
Here
at the glen,
He
just fobbed me off again.
Stay
high on the path,
His
final intimidating words,
Sad
for him they go unheard.
For
I am curious,
To
see what goes on,
In
the woods at night, this season.
I
know of witches,
That
come with flowing robes on,
Soon
beyond the sunsets gone.
And
I hear a rumour,
Of
the incantations and rites,
These
lovers of nature perform at nights.
Gathered
round a fire bright,
Cauldrons
bubbling, fingers working,
Catching
mysterious intruders lurking.
The
laird is lord,
Here
in this tiny glen,
His
witches, wives, enjoying men.
For
in the darkness,
There
is a harrowdens heat,
Where
all shall worship, at her feet.
I
don't say impure,
This
observance is as old as time,
I
understand the reason, not the rhyme.
So
come I must,
To
help expel all the fear,
Of
this witches coven, I am drawing near,
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