Rome never looks where she treads. Always her heavy hooves fall On our stomachs, our hearts or our heads; And Rome never heeds when we bawl. Her sentries pass by and that's all, And we gather behind them in hordes, And plot to reconquer the Wall, With only our tongues for our swords.
Chorus: We are the Little Folk--we! Too little to love or to hate. But leave us alone and you'll see How we can drag down the State! We are the worm in the wood! We are the rot at the root! We are the taint in the blood! We are the thorn in the foot!
Mistletoe killing an oak-- Rats gnawing cables in two-- Moths eating holes in a cloak-- How they must love what they do! Yes--and we Little Folk too, We are busy as they-- Working our works out of view-- Watch, and you'll see it some day!
Chorus Although maybe we are not strong, But we know Peoples that are. Yes, and we'll guide them along To smash and destroy you in War! We shall be slaves just the same? Yes, we have always been slaves, But you--you will die of the shame, And then we willl dance on your graves!
I'm a woman, a Witch, a mother, a grandmother, an eco-feminist, a gardener, a reader, a writer, and a priestess of the Great Mother Earth. Hecate appears in the
Homeric Ode to Demeter, which tells of Hades who caught Persophone
"up reluctant on his golden car and bare her away lamenting. . . . But no one, either of the deathless gods or of mortal men, heard her voice, nor yet the olive-trees bearing rich fruit: only tenderhearted Hecate, bright-coiffed, the daughter of Persaeus, heard the girl from her cave . . . ."