A Witch's Chant of Toil

Down by the forest's edge at night she dances as her auburn hair wildly glows. She steps out into the pale moon light, so the night creatures can see the show. Misty fog the woods it does grace as she is sealing in the circle with salt. The fire's glow lights up her intense face but Let not Ye be caught. Tiny Fairies quietly watch as she brings her steaming cauldron to a boil. When the spirits cry, a bell she rings the witch calls out her chant of toil. Even the wise old owl says not a word as the spell unfolds. A frightful story in the darkness of night, is going to be told. A frog's eyes, a bat and a dead man's bones, a rumbling sound and a lot of groans. A few roots, a newt and a wing of a bird, screeching sounds chillingly heard. From the ground her dead lover he does rise welcoming him with such passion and a kiss. Each time her soul is filled with sweet surprise when she sees the one, she has missed.