The Gathering, a poem by David Lees 


The 'Gathering' is in Edinburgh,
In mid September '98,
Strange forces are arriving,
Around the Canongate.

In a hidden chamber,
Lies our secret lair,
Where we conjure forth the demons of hell,
So mortal men beware.

Among the spluttering candles,
And skulls all covered with dust,
We invoke the demonic spirits,
To wreak vengeance on the unjust.

Upon the straining bookshelves,
Lie great volumes on the occult,
And on this ancient knowledge,
Our own lives have been built.

To sit around the fire,
In this dry and cosy cave,
No need for fear, we are here,
And your soul can surely save.

Lets ponder the great mysteries,
Of past and ancient knowledge,
Great masters of the past,
We drink to and acknowledge.

We practice the art of Voodoo,
Of Witchcraft and the Shaman,
Gorge ourselves in revelry,
Honour the horned god Pan.

Let's toast the many masters,
That are with us here today,
The spirits of life be kind to you,
And guide you through each day.

The first of the grandmasters,
Played a large part in the 'Gatherin',
A powerful mage he has become,
And his name is Charles Cameron.

And a special "Happy Birthday",
To a wise and kindly witch,
She hails from a far off land,
And her name is Mary Tomich.

And of course a special honour,
For a master of the unholy bretheren,
The coveted "Order of The Bat",
Presented to Carl Herron.

And members of "The Gatherin",
I also have a toast for you,
Here's tae yae
Wha's like yae
Damn few.

© David Lees, September 1998


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