The Witches Grove: Season of Sabbats

THE WITCHES GROVE: SEASONS OF SABBATS

An ancient Grove in night's embrace,
far-reaching roots and timeless space.
The mother's love, the maiden's grace,
crone's wisdom crowned this sacred place.

  "Since days of old so says the lore
  The phases of the moon we wore
  Within the Grove these secrets stay
  With northern winds and whispered play"

In moon's soft glow the maiden dares;
by woodlands deep, her heart ensnared.
Beneath the eastern boughs she treads,
the thrill of secrets, rumored dread.

Up from the south, the Mother's song.
With words of love she guides along
the stumbling youth, allaying fright,
still cloaked in shadowed, mystic night.

In melody her tales unfold;
of inner battles - ages old.
With proven words of light she arms
and keeps her child from hurt or harm.

Then, from the west, a solemn face,
with hints of maid and mother, traced.
With twinkling eyes she sings her songs:
knowledge, power, right from wrong.

The crone imparts an ageless lore,
with wisdom's keys she opens doors
to eager minds, to knowing's thirst,
in nights to come her spirit's versed.

Beneath the moon god's triple light,
they gather thus to seek her sight.
Within the Grove they gather near,
soft raiment shed, no trace of fear.

  "With truths of old these tales I weave
  Grandmothers' knowings still believed
  In emerald Grove these secrets find
  On every leaf a sacred sign

  Oak the elder guardian tall
  When strong and sure it shelters all
  Rough bark will heal as leaves will shade
  Under its boughs our dreams are made

  On venerable oak a secret grows
  Around the trunk - green Mistletoe
  In berries red the elders knew
  A potent life and faith renewed

  The Rowan tree with berries bright
  Guards from ill and magic spite
  Hang its twigs upon your door
  Block dark wishes evermore

  Heed with care this earnest plea
  Prepare with lore the Elder tree
  In berries, leaves, and seeds we find
  Cures for body, heart, and mind"

Ostara's song, a silvery trance,
they share their dreams and moon-dressed, dance.
They twirl and sway, a sunward waltz,
around Old Oak with nature's pulse.

  "Yarrow with its feathery leaf
  Brings healing swift and pain relief
  In summer's fields white flowers tall
  Pick them well before the fall

  Chamomile in water seep
  For easy nerves and restful sleep
  Brewed in teas or on the skin
  Gentle power lies therein

  Nettle with a sting so keen
  Boil leaves to softest sheen
  Rich in iron blood flows true
  Gentles stomach, skin, and flu

  St. John's wort grants healing arts
  Golden blooms when spring departs
  Yet mind its use with other cures
  Ensuring health will then endure

  In nature's bounty wisdom finds
  A triple goddess intertwined
  From her gifts a path of light
  Honored thus this sacred night"

As dawn's sun paints the eastern sky,
the maiden now new secrets hides.
She leaves the Grove, but with her brings
seeds sown to grow as sacred things.

Her youthful air, a radiant sight,
at harvest dance she shines with light.
Among her suitors one stands tall,
a harder look but softer call.

Though seasons change, the sabbats stay;
the Grove endures through many days.
With every step their spirits blend.
With timeless rites, three women mend.

A year to court she finds with joy
her steadfast man a gentle boy;
the will to work, a builder's hands,
and men who leap at his command.

A treasured friendship, sure and deep,
In Beltane's light their spirits speak.
After their vows they find a place
of heated nights in sweet embrace.

A girl-child born; her heart now grown.
The maiden blooms, never alone.
In motherhood her spirit roars,
and deeper loves she now explores.

  "In sacred groves where secrets lie
  We name the gods beneath the sky
  There timeless presence every grand
  In this realm now let us stand

  Upon Samhain our fate begins
  A time when mystery's veil is thin
  Morrigan battle's fierce array
  In war and peace please guide our way

  Balder shining god of joy
  Let us now your means employ
  As Yule approaches hear our plea
  For wisdom, strength, and courtesy

  Brigid soft in springs fresh bloom
  The sun escapes from winter's tomb
  At hearth and forge your blessing flow
  Ignite our hearts your will to know

  Eostre in spring's embrace so sweet
  Your fertile touch the earth will greet
  Renewal's song in every bloom
  Grant us life dispel the gloom"

The children's minds are open books;
for mother's tales they always look.
Learning truth and ancient ways
to guide them through the coming days.

  "Cernunnos on Beltane night
  An antlered crowned with burning light
  Wild Hunt's call in moonlight gleams
  We join the chase of wild things

  Aine with summer solstice high
  Your radiant glow fills azure skies
  In Litha's blaze your fervent face
  The Lady's peace and flowered grace

  Lugh upon the harvest's start
  With seasoned touch please play your part
  With skills and crafts your blessings flow
  Lughnasadh reap what we shall sow

  Cailleach in winter's cold embrace
  The sun shifts as you find your place
  In balance of the light and dark
  Guide us with your wisdoms mark

  In reverence to nature's might
  We honor them both day and night
  In their wisdom light our way
  For sacred steps we humbly pray"

Beneath the oak five children play
from spring to winter's finest days.
No need of secrets yet to know,
in innocence their spirits grow.

A mother's love, forever bound,
within each child joy is found.
As they grow her heart expands
guiding life with gentle hands.

Blessed so sure - then one child lost,
unable to suppose the cost.
'Neath oaken shadows hearts find space
for family's tears and soft embrace.

  "The Wheel of Seasons, ever clear,
  Marks our passage through the year.
  With changing skies our time unfolds,
  The sabbats' tales are thus retold:

  In Samhain's shadow last year dies
  Yule-time solstice first sunrise
  Imbolc's promise spring's light near
  Ostara balances night with cheer

  In Beltane's fire passions blaze
  Litha's longed-for sunny days
  Lammas brings the harvest call
  Alban Elued the year-ends fall"

From maiden's mouth, her mother's voices;
in whispered rhymes she now rejoices!
While Mother's wizened, strong though sore,
in matriarchy more mature.

The crone walks on, the skies turn gray,
though tales she left we still convey.
Without Great Gran the Grove feels lost,
fair wisdom's crown a heavy cost.

As seasons dance, their laughter rings,
guileless hearts like birds in spring.
With childish glee they run and play,
in their delight, her soul assuaged.

From children's children late in bed,
to brothers grown and maidens wed,
she loves these lives who give and need,
and all from those remembered seeds.

In Autumn's cloak the Grove is calm;
a constant and enduring balm.
Though struck with flame it does not burn.
'Round one old oak our seasons turn.

But fate will call, it knows your name.
Great Gran said love; don't pause for gain.
"Two hundred years of kin will cost you twenty years of pain.
This lesson you must learn, dear: love is lost - but love remains."

In winter's shroud her Love lays straight.
She speaks of joy despite their fate.
In widow's waeds, recounts the days,
his heedful heart and humble ways.

A husband's vows, forever true,
a father's love that's always new.
Gone from sight, yet ever near,
in children's smiles he still appears.

Now crone herself, with aged grace,
she dances still but leads the chase!
Laughing maidens, hearts enflamed
with ancient secrets, newly named.

Maiden, mother, wizened crone;
each would seem to stand alone.
Yet 'round Old Oak the family thrives
on ancient roots and moonlit skies.

With sabbats' cycles seasons turn,
to nature's dance I'll now adjourn.
With love's embrace, I wish you -  home.
To grow an oak; to call your own.

Ⓒ 2023 Red Feather Art