A translucent apple
crimson in glister
rests upon a cushion
of wedding lace
and silken drapes
in the humming witchwood.
A honeyed perfume
pervades the crystal air
to entice a blessed lady
who savours the rosy flesh
of that glowing fruit
and sinks into an eternal
slumber.
Beneath the sacred
witchwood tree
healers and shamans
rest
In the twilight
waiting ,
breathing
watching others ,
searching,seething,
lying in the fragrant flowers
"neath your castle's spiraled towers........
Lying in the witch wood
the little people pines,
murmuring their wind words,
whispering their rhymes .
Making plans for Midnight
when the moon is low,
Shaking off the needles
falling soft below.
Branches entertwining,
in a circle dance
spinning in the moonlight
till the thrilling trance
turns them into ladies,
with their lords in tow,
waltzing in the Witch wood
where no one else will know.
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