It's My Pride To Always Cast That First Spell Poem by Anthony Fry

My carefully practised black art curdles cows milk.
Casting spells on effigies, in nightly sects and rites.

Remember me and my cat, because I'm a sorcerer.
Spending our life's suspended in that supernatural.

See our attributed magic, mixed in a black cauldron.
Life is very realistic and so is my pagan commitment.

Last night was quite unforgettable conjuring spells.
Secret tali-en names, selected by our coven witch.

Horned animals are my favourite assembled dance.
Sex with those devils, means having no eye contact.

I can be seen dark nights, straddling my broomstick.
Awaiting on utilitarian stops, a night of a full moon.