The Wise Woman They call me the wise woman of the wood, That I hold the secrets of the ancients. I belong to no cult or sisterhood, I just see the forest for what it is. Many here are jealous of what I know, The same people who call me pagan! Yet, they still come to me with their woes, Faith in their God is easily shaken! Some Rosemary, perhaps, to chase nightmares? Saint James Wort to ease your bruises and banes? Chamomile to soften a headache? A touch of Hemlock to dull a pain? Tonight, I’ll face south at sunset, and while The world sleeps, I’ll gather in … and smile.
(Herbs picked whilst facing south at midnight, were thought to be more potent. An interesting concept!)
This poem is so rich in history.