Coven

In the hush of midnight’s velvet veil,
A coven gathers ’neath the silvered moon,
Their cloaks a rustle like autumn’s pale,
Voices weaving ancient tune.

Hands entwined, they trace the sigil’s seam,
Chanting low where shadows play,
Each breath a spell, each pulse a dream,
Turning night to brightest day.

Herbs and crystals, gleaming bright,
Rest upon the altar stone,
Fragrant sage and rosemary’s light
Guide the magic they have known.

When the chanting fades to still,
And the fire’s embers softly sigh,
The sisters part, yet bound they’ll dwell—
Heart to heart ’neath British sky.