|
I dropped down in the witchwood |
|
To see what I could find |
|
The trees had taken time out |
|
To blow away my mind |
|
All that I could hear there |
|
Was the sound of my own voice |
|
But the music it was making |
|
Was nothing of my choice. |
|
The interwoven branches |
|
Were laden deep with snow |
|
A rainbow shone so softly |
|
To show which way to go |
|
I observed its many colours |
|
Till my eyes were rimmed with frost |
|
I tried hard to trace my footsteps |
|
For I feared I might get lost. |
|
The witchwood started singing |
|
With a strange unearthly sound |
|
My fingers grew like branches |
|
I stood rooted to the ground |
|
And the spell is still unbroken |
|
I am still her bidden slave |
|
Till a casket from the witchwood |
|
Bears my body to the grave |