Witchcraft trickled from her lips
as moonbeams lavished gold;
her nights were laced with sorcery
and alchemy of old.
As hollows full of sleeping souls
dreamt of their far-off realms,
she whispered to the universe
her wishes and her spells.
The cat upon the table purred
as fragrant tributes burned;
with grace and wisdom, she applied
the methods she had learned.
Her sheer devotion to the craft
was written in her skin;
a child of sun and moon and stars;
her magic bloomed within.
The candle flames upon a ledge
invoked a soothing glow,
and through her window she did gaze
to starry skies on show.
No matter what of history,
her soul was pure and bright;
with witchcraft at her fingertips,
the witch shall fly tonight.
© 2016 Amelia Dashwood, All rights reserved
Pic Source: karabadan.com/postcards/CatF2W2.html