The pale moon is my light, my way;
The sun is surely what will bring judgment day;
I sit under the stairs, under the stars, hidden in the gray;
I look to the moon as to the Triple Goddess I pray;
Maiden, Mother, Crone, I sit and chant, I shake and sway;
Your will is mine to do, my heart yours to weigh;
For the Book of Shadows, my hidden secret, I have fallen prey;
I shall never let the sun touch me, not the smallest ray;
All my life I have been a cliche.
© Elizabeth White 2008
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