And so sweet, loved Witch,
The mystical growing threads of such controlling force,
Seek like the tendrils of a sapling oak,
The deepest, craven pleasures
Within the enveloping warmth
Of a Sorcerer’s cloak.
It wraps so silently with cunning stealth,
Around your naked and so wanton form.
And as dark night passes,
Upon its stallion gleaming black,
Now your waking time, through shafted lights of dawn,
Finds your willful will, so bound with tightened cords,
And old magic’s skill.
That try your hardest,
They will weather all the forces
Of proud Nature’s storm.
To hold through time together,
Your craving bondage to a lover’s loved filled will.