The Witch's Dance - by Margaret Muir - a poem

THE WITCH'S DANCE

Sweet female child
plucked from your mother’s swollen womb
before the tongues of searing flame
licked and devoured that pulsing
nursery of seed from which you came.

Sweet female child
transported on the tumbrel cart of life,
alight to sip the juice of maidenhood,
to dance upon the bosom of the earth,
that verdant mantle succoured by the ash.

Sweet female child
feet dipped in evening’s dew, you glide
swathed naked in a sea of liquid night,
twisting, rotating, turning, spinning fast,
invoke an aura, partner to your dance.

Sweet female child
with rainbow flames entwined
lapping your flesh in intimate embrace,
smooth swirling figures in cold fluid air
coloured in indigo, orange, violet, red.

Sweet female child
throughout the night you dance
till moonbeams shy from early morning’s glow
then to the arms of mother earth you fall,
wrapped in fine veils of misty rainbow hue.

Sweet female child
sleep safely in the ambience of dawn
warmed by your lover’s multicoloured cape,
and when he stirs, arise and greet the sun.
Sweet female child, it is your day – Dance on!

Margaret Muir
Copyright July 2001

This poem will be appearing in a collection of poetry titled: WORDS ON A CRUMPLED PAGE