Poetry By Willow Dancer


Have I told you the story of a girl named Jean
how the town folk's convinced that she's evil and mean,
that shes off in the head and will never be right
'bout her peculiar demeanor on full moon lit nights?

She seems not to notice their whispers and stares
as she sits at the marketplace trading her wares,
her baubles and trinkets the most curious things
and baskets of feathers and crystals and strings.

Jean holds out her hand for the pennies they pay
at the touch of her fingers they scurry away,
not sure if her madness will creep to their soul
and render them spellbound and in her control.

Solitude masked with a compassionate smile
she wishes they'd sit and chat for awhile,
but confused and bewildered she packs up to go
to her house in the woods with it's candles aglow.

At the edge of the village she heads down the lane
she tried to be friendly but its always in vain,
it should be easy to see that there's nothing to dread
she's not evil nor mean but has magick to spread.

So she stands by her hearth looking into the flame
and can't help but think that it's all such a shame,
they say that she's odd but they haven't a clue
there's a witch in their midst, if only they knew.....

Copyright 2004 Willow Dancer

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