Her hair- black as a raven’s breast
   Eyes glowing through orbs of green
She dances covertly in the dark of night
    Where not another soul is seen
warbling a haunting, enchanted tune

Chanting, dancing around the fire
   under light of a full evening moon
Questions lie on lips to desire
   Is she malevolent or benevolent?
Never a soul has been so bold
   to tell their story, too hesitant!

She possesses many powers, many tales
   Lifting her hands as she chants
Red mist swirling, twirling behind her veil
   Eyes brightening in orbs of green
Chilly mist crawling over her skin
   Under an oak tree dancing unseen

Cloaked under her crimson, blood red shawl
   Strange sounds and names uttered
as she boldly dances, chanting out her call
   Wild, fierce, bold and free
Like a chameleon she changes
    in red blazing firelight so unseen

Suddenly, the ground shakes with deafening roar
    Bursts of electric blue, beam above her head
Voltaic forces join, shaking earth’s woodland floor
    Down the path, robes flowing, blowing in the breeze
Many forces about, electrifying ground and air

Gathering together, chanting, dancing under the trees
    Many denizens of this land astound
Warlocks and witches cast their magic here
    as their caldron bubbles over ground

They come together from lake and fen
    Here they meet from darkened lair
Ferny dells and rocky dens
    “Make room”, they call in pitch black night
Bringing many potions to mix them well
    Taking wool, wand, bone and eyes, what a fright!
Casting out and about their magic spells

   Mixing tooth and tongue and nail
Under fire, water, earth and dung
   They mix the caldron, hold the flail
Hemlock, henbane, adder’s blood
   Chanting out “By thee we bound upon this road"!

Suddenly the spell’s been cannily brewed
   Using blood, eyes, tongue of a toad
    As quickly as they came, they hastily leave
Departing forest dark, entering private glades

   Leaving once again, only to return
On another chilly, full October moon eve
   they’ll chant, they'll brew their magic urns
"Merry Meet", they all say, as they make haste to leave