The Forest Witch

by

Wesley A. Storer

The Moon was a glorious orbiting sphere
And the night a bright nocturnal Lyre
As an old woman slogged through a bog
Of crickets frogs lilly pads and logs
Looking at flowers roots and shrubs
She took a nibble from a yellow nub
What if by a nibble of this I might
Find a cure for screams in the night
Driven by baby cries and hunger moans
From her little forest cottage home
Where a crystal window clear as rain
Was the only treasure she could claim
Many a maiden the laddies adored
Owed existence to that old hag's door
Her bubbeling pot held nutritious brew
Prayers of the priests were reserved
For those paying for blessings deserved
When bread was more precious than blood
The killing fire a cold ominous stare
In those days of yore way back there
Put them all together and they tell
Twelve Hundred and fifty years of Hell

NEXT?
Why don't you look at Swans and the Sunrise
by: Natasha
from: Madison, WI, US

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