March is the Wicca’s New Year, Where we suffer in Silence, And unite along Fear, To never trust Science.

For us to go Wild, We pray with Gold, Where we wretch Mild, We commune with the Old.

We dissipate with the Ashes, To reborn with Force, Where salt kills Marshes, We harden as Coarse.

Go strong new Moon, As we speed as Noon.

Never let Fear, Let us near Leer.

We are the Source, Of the cycle’s new Course.