'Twas The Eve of Midwinter, and all through the coven
The Witches were cooking strange things in the oven.
There were mugwart frittatas, and dragon's-blood stew
And mescaline eggnog and mandrake fondue.
There were hot mountain oysters and road-kill pate
And spotted-owl kidneys, and wombat flambe.
The circle was cast and the herbs had been smoked
In hopes that the Goddess would soon be invoked.
When out by the hot tub arose such a clatter
I jumped on my broom to see what was the matter.
And what should I see in the blackberry thorns
but a soaking wet Goddess and eight unicorns!
"I was just sitting down with my vibrating phallus
And a good book," she muttered, "You bitches are callous.
I came when you called, over all my objections,
And got lost in the woods--you give lousy directions.
You turkeys invoked me, now look at my dress
My period's late and I've got PMS."
She cursed and she muttered, she looked like a wreck
The unicorns whimpered and shat on the deck.
We gave her some weed and we got her some grub
We brought her clean towels and she soaked in the tub.
Then she rose, hot and dripping, and gave us her blessing
And jumped in her chariot, without even dressing!
"On Isis! On Eris! Oya and Astarte!
On Ishtar! Inanna! Kali and Hecate!"
We heard her exclaim as she climbed through the air
"Thank Goddess there's only eight sabbats a year!"