I belong to an e-list for coven leaders, and have been reading along for some time as members expound on the joys and pains of coven leadership, on the difficult decisions, and on why it’s all worth it. So, the other day, I returned from luch, read a post about it not being “a bed of roses” and felt inspired. Enjoy.
Bed of Roses
I am but a humble gardener
Learned in my Craft
I’ve studied how to sow the seeds
To cut the stem and graft
I know the ways to coax new growth
And stymie evil weeds
Long as the rose accepts my care
I’ll give it all it needs
But growing roses isn’t bliss
Despite their blessed smell
For every rose that’s blossomed full
Three more have gone to hell
And I know not to fertilize
With grade A bull manure —
The average stems may flourish
But splendid ones grow fewer
Sometimes as I tend my greens
Thorns may prick my finger
The hurt has always gone away
But memories still linger
And when I think I’ll just give up
And turn it all below
I recall the oath I gave in love
And trust some years ago
Some day I hope to give my Queen
One dozen blood red stems
Though it may take years to find
And grow those brilliant gems
For all the joy and pain it brings
It’s not as one supposes
A coven leader’s job it seems
Is to sleep in beds of roses.