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.
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