Here’s to the Witches
Here’s to the Witches with messy altars.
To the sisters that have cats with ragged ears and missing legs.
Here’s to the brothers with the altars all dripping wax and smothered in incense ash.
To the siblings with athames of stone and Books of Shadow smudged with coffee and last week’s breakfast.
Here’s to spells written in a rush but with love and care behind them.
To spells that don’t rhyme or really make sense when spoken but call storms to the sky.
Here’s to the Witches who sit Sundays in the pews and sing out the praise of the Risen God.
To the Witches who stand sky clad under the moonlight and pray by fire to the old Gods of Before.
Here’s to the Witches who learn when they are children, how to read the cards and the signs of the stars.
To the Witches who don’t learn until silver touches their hair how to cast the runes and the bones to sense a fair wind.
Here’s to the Children of the Witches they could not Burn.
To the Witches who snuck into the night with their books and wands and herbs clutched close to their chests.
Here’s to the Witches who flaunted their Spirit Boards in their sitting rooms and their crystals in their kitchens.
Here’s to the Witches.