A white globe, bright shining,
Through wind swift driven clouds.
I stand in quiet contemplation,
No needs for shouting or crowds.
Athames in the moonlight,
Crystals glistening bright.
Robed and cloaked and hooded,
In glades of trees all wooded.
All the witches in a coven,
One more there is, than a dozen.
The chants they sing, the words they speak,
The wind blown trees do sway and creak.
A circle is cast, the watchers are called,
The outside world, it’s entry is stalled.
The ritual complete, all words have been spoken,
May the circle be open but never unbroken!