Woman of the Woods

In great white feathers
she comes, wearing horns,
naked as the woods in winter.

Hair like a garden of ebony wild
weaving magickal tapestries
as she kneels down to draw
her circle in the black flesh
of the damp earth.

Daughter of Diana,
Child of the moon bewitched,
when shadows swallow up the day
she lights a fire, bright as dreams
on her hill of emerald blades
that sway so lazily in the breeze.

Huntress of the dark,
enchantress of the spellbound night,
fast as lightning, thunder bold,
she moves with grace and speed.