Be a martyr or be a soldier The old Earth won’t tell And all those winters you have Raised your shield against the wind Her cracking hands Her creaking limbs will be Shadows across the grave Wet reaching roots In the hollows of the skull
And still the cold Of the old witch Will come again She comes again Each November
Through the dust and webs Of the window Looking out across the field A distant glimpse of ragged robes Lurking at the forest edge A white blindness in her eyes
Now scratching at the door
Sowing seed or taking life We all bend a simple knee Blessed hearts of bloodied angels Losing sight of sacred wind And falling rain
Her Earthen witchcraft Summoning Autumn winds She casts her spell Her icy breath upon your neck A shiver rattling through your bones To cast aside The precious warmth of summer Takes your heart in her silvery veil