A Catechism for a Wiccan Child
by J.L.Stanley
Church of the Iron Oak


When they ask to see your gods,
your book of prayers,
show them lines
drawn delicately with veins
on the underside of a bird's wing.
Tell them you believe
in giant sycamores, mottled
and stark against a winter sky,
and in nights so frozen
stars crack open, spilling streams of molten ice to earth.
And tell them how you drank
the holy wine of honeysuckle
on a warm spring day
and of the softness
of your mother,
who never taught you death was life's reward,
but who believed in the earth
and in the sun,
and a million, million light years
of being.

Reprinted from Church of the Iron Oak.

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