Deep into my Cauldron I stir equal balance, of frankincense and myrrh, what do I hope to inspire, but my very deepest desire.

Filled with ecstasy and unbreakable must, I do plunge my magick, with shape shifting thrust.

A dash of salt, to hold things down and bind evil up, safe and sound. A bundle of herbs, picked by me, this to cause my desire to be. A splash of water, with rosemary dew, to make my spell alive with youth.

Around my Cauldron I do stir, with hopes of life’s future to grow.

A hint of mugwort and pinch of rue, to court the spirits, with powers which do. The flame that burns and brings to boil, shall not bring trouble or sorrow. For better it be, the good of all with harm to none, letting no ill befall man or beast. This brew of magick I do spin with a ladle blessed by Cerridwen.

So be it done by rising moon and setting sun.

This potion is now fit for utter success, in any desire or magickal quest. It is best worn by the breast.

For the beat of the heart, is the ladle to stir the powers of the potion, into the land of human emotion.

On all pulse points a drop shall lay, to pull in your magick to stay and give you rise. For Witches truly do fly the skies! With besom in hand and familiar by foot, off I go to the Sabbat nook! To dance and sing with my Horned Lord and to kiss my Lady’s mantle and keep my Witches word. Only to return to this place and live in fuller budding grace. For it is the Witches pace.