On Coven Leadership

I wrote this poem years ago and discovered it in my files. I thought it would be interesting to pass on to those new to *this*part of the path.

Bed of Roses
I am but a humble gardener
Learned in my Craft
I’ve studied how to sow the seeds
To cut the stem and graft
I know the ways to coax new growth
And stymie evil weeds
Long as the rose accepts my care
I’ll give it all it needs

But growing roses isn’t bliss
Despite their blessed smell
For every rose that’s blossomed full
Three more have gone to hell
And I know not to fertilize
With grade A bull manure —
The average stems may flourish
But splendid ones grow fewer

Sometimes as I tend my greens
Thorns may prick my finger
The hurt has always gone away
But memories still linger
And when I think I’ll just give up
And turn it all below
I recall the oath I gave in love
And trust some years ago

Some day I hope to give my Queen
One dozen blood red stems
Though it may take years to find
And grow those brilliant gems
For all the joy and pain it brings
It’s not as one supposes
A coven leader’s job it seems
Is to sleep in beds of roses.

This entry was posted in News. Bookmark the permalink.

Comments are closed.