By: Sister Moon

 I call you now, Sisters of Night,

Winds are rising, brooms in flight.

I call you now, Brothers of Cloak,

Summon the Towers as we invoke.

A whispering voice echoes the chants,

As a thousand Witches return to dance.

Gathered among stray witches found,

Encompassing the moon to draw it down.

Our forces joined and our hearts as one.

The magickal feast has just begun.

The power is rising in valleys and fields,

Harnessing the enchantment we easily wield.

From the mountains to the sea,

the universe exudes our energy.

The witches spell now cast and spent,

The moon is drained without relent.

Return to home and hollowed ground,

For next time when the moon is round,

The witches will whisper the tune of night,

"Gather ye witches, 'tis time for flight!"