Through skeleton leaves in the forest
she searches the shadowy wood,
for wellsprings long ago hidden
of sources long misunderstood.
A pentacle on a chain of silver
lays upon her breast,
and when she stands near a doorway of stone
her heart beats strong within her chest.
And the water witch knows
the waters below,
she finds the hidden hope,
With a hazel branch
In the witch’s hands,
Hope is more than chance.
Through a dark and misty chasm
she finds a forked hazel twig,
and with none but the wood that guides her
she knows just where to dig.
A pentacle deep in the center
of the fruit that falls at her feet,
and when she stands near the old apple tree
her still heart begins to beat.
And the water witch knows
the waters below,
the finds the hidden hope,
with a hazel branch
in the witch’s hands,
Hope is more than chance.
Witch of waters,
priestess of night
light of moonlit wood.
Branch of earth,
divining her way,
she who serves the good.
There’s a secret that’s long been forgotten,
whispered within her steps
memories lost ages ago
hidden in her every breath.
And the water witch knows
the waters below,
she finds the hidden hope,
with a hazel branch
In the witch’s hands,
Hope is more than chance.
