Child of The Witch
In the heart of the whispering woods,
Where shadows dance with the light,
Lies a Child with a gentle soul,
Keeping vigil through the night.
Her Mother, a Witch of ancient lore,
Sits beneath the Mistress Moon’s empathetic glow,
Weaving spells of forgotten dreams,
In the world where secrets flow.
The child always tends to her mother’s heart,
A well of sorrow, deep and wide
For the father, a phantom of the past
Left before the baby’s first cry
With hands of grace and eyes of truth,
She gathers herbs with care
Brewing potions to ease the pain,
And weave hope from despair.
The forest hums with her magic song
A lullaby in the boughs above,
As the child whispers words of strength,
Bound by unyielding love.
In the flicker of the lanterns glow,
The Mother smiles, though tears may fall,
For in her child, she sees the light,
That guides them through it all.
Thus, the child of the witch remains,
In the woods where mysteries dwell,
A guardian of her Mother’s heart,
Where love and magic swell.
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