Paganistan: Notes from the Secret Commonwealth
In Which One Midwest Man-in-Black Confers, Converses & Otherwise Hob-Nobs with his Fellow Hob-Men (& -Women) Concerning the Sundry Ways of the Famed but Ill-Starred Tribe of Witches.
The Online Wassail
The Online Wassail
(Tune: Malpas Wassail)
O Harvest is over, and Yuletide's come in:
turn on your computer and let us begin
our online wassail, wassail, wassail.
And joy come to our online wassail!
The year's been a dark one, we all must admit:
we're tired and fed up, and we're feeling like shit
for our online wassail, wassail, wassail.
And joy come to our online wassail!
This stupid pandemic has been a real bitch;
our old plans for Yule have all taken a slitch.
Hence, our online wassail, wassail, wassail.
And joy come to our online wassail!
But a new day is dawning: we've kicked the foul rump
of that gibbering idiot, President Trump
off our online wassail, wassail, wassail.
And joy come to our online wassail!
So, socially distanced, come join in the fun
of singing our hopes for the year that's to come,
with our online wassail, wassail, wassail.
And joy come to our online wassail!
The New Sun kicks lustily, deep in the womb,
so take a deep breath, folks, and crank up the Zoom
to our online wassail, wassail, wassail.
And joy come to our online wassail!
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Thank you! I recited this as part of my full moon ritual tonight it felt right and fun.