True Craft

to the tune of Brendan Behan’s “The Patriot Game”

I went up to uni, when I turned 18.
I’d not heard of Wicca, I was really that green.
The coven I’d trained with never mentioned GG;
So I assumed witches were all just like me.

The skills I’d been trained in were not easy to learn.
To get things word perfect was a major concern.
In all matters ritual, they were strict and correct;
And above all they’d taught me, our gods to respect.

Now I was far from them, and sought company.
A student in drama, was a new first degree
With a local-based coven and invited me
To join them at Samhain, as a Wiccan trainee.

I turned up assuming we did things the same way.
My illusions were shattered without any delay.
They handed out hymn sheets, for people to say
The words on the paper; they knew no other way.

The roles were allotted, and each had his part.
I was told to invoke the month’s gods from their chart.
I asked could I do things the way I knew how
And call upon she who had long had my vow.

They thought it amusing, that someone unknown
To the coven and Wicca had thoughts of their own.
They allowed me some leeway to use words I knew best
To draw down my Lady, and make their request.

The rite was intended to use magic to aid
A young coven member, who in childbirth was laid.
The labour had lasted two days and some more,
And they wanted a safe birth, for the child that she bore.

They drew up the circle; they started their rite;
They waved their athames; they read to recite.
They gabbled it quickly, with no space for a god
To enter their ritual. I thought it quite odd.

And then it was my turn, I focussed my thought,
And conjured my Lady, in the words I was taught.
Though the windows were sealed fast, a gust swept the room;
Two candles were snuffed out and the light dimmed to gloom.

Three covenees started; the high priestess shied.
I welcomed my Lady, who possessed me inside.
The coven were shaken, when a cry echoed round:
The kind that a babe gives when it makes its first sound.

From that day to this, they’ve not asked me again.
Though once I set eyes on the child born at Samhain.
It had the eyes of my Lady, and I’m biding the day
That child will come seeking, to find her own way.