For your amusement, here is the original poem where the sabbat celebration first appeared. You can see why I now write prose instead of poetry. Apologies for the formatting; can’t figure out a way to get rid of the space after paragraph in this Theme.
|The throb of the drums
Is relentless, insistent.
A primeval rhythm
Older even than the sacred harvest dance.
The sweet bouquet of sweat
Rises in sacrifice to the nostrils of the goddess,
Along with the dancing flames of the bonfire.
The creatures of the woodlands
Frolic with their distant human cousins,
Paying their own homage
To the savage queen that is their mother.
Fairies leap and soar,
Writhing and sweating in the firelight.
The younger satyrs abandon their pipes
For the primal summons of the drums.
Centaurs mate without shame.
Their half-human restraint overwhelmed
By the glory of bestial passion,
While outside the circle of the firelight
The hyenas wait patiently.
One couple moves with such effortless union
That humans and faeries alike stop to watch.
Who is the wild, barbaric, bare-breasted beauty
In the garb of the fairy queen?
And what relentless stranger
Hides behind the hideous mask of the demon?
The last chord comes with sudden savagery.
The couple raises their masks to kiss
In a ritual older than Atlantis.
The sudden stillness is broken
As centaurs and lovers alike gasp in reverence.
For the feathery mask of the fairy queen
Has hidden none other than you, Lady Fortune.
And behind the mask of her demon lover
Lingers I, The Fool.