The Witch

The Witch

A barred cart down the street does roll
As city bells toll away their toll
Eleven, twelve, they sing and sing!
Happiness to all but one they bring.

She sits inside, alone and pale
The gloom around her like some ghostly veil
Hard it is, these days, to be a witch
Most still trust, but there’s a few who snitch

If just so happens, if someone talks
You can kiss goodbye to your beloved hawks
The inquisition comes, mighty their wrath
And soon in chains a witch is dragged

Some are real, and some are not
Though the real ones are a sneaky lot
Not often do the priests in red
Such great prizes on the pyre get

But this, I’d say, for sure
Is not a fake, a witch she’s pure
This I can tell – no marks she has
Though in dungeons she’s been rubbed with broken glass

A plan is up her sleeve, of course
No way would she give up, no way she’d close the doors
And soon we’ll see – out is she led
By seven knights, all dressed in red

The gallows stairs one by one she takes
Unheeding what on top for her waits
A pyre great, such heaps of wood!
Never so much have on this gallows stood

The mob cries hungry: “Kill the witch!
Deserves not life this cruel unlawful bitch!”
The witch in black just looks and smirks
But even so the mob quick shirks

The headsman, in his frightful mask, awaits
He’s seen a goodly number of such fates
Just tie her well and strike a flame
And glory from the crowd then claim

The witch has others plans, however
As she grows swiftly bored with this pathetic fervor
A cat comes up to her and meows, quite loud
The hag just smiles, seeming quite proud

Poof! A cloud of smoke soon rises
None at all were ready for such swift surprises
The witch has fled, where is the witch?
No flames this night in City Square shall twitch

Away from this, near some old wall
Two black cats cast shadows tall
And were they men, not creatures
You’d think a smile does light their features