I searched the headstones for my Mary <br />Who Death decided to take so early; <br />When I chanced upon <br />A bush of thorns <br />Sharp pricker spikes <br />Two inches long; <br />Within the thicket <br />The tangled web <br />Stood a stone <br />Of unnamed dead <br />I asked the keeper <br />Who kept the grounds <br />Why he did not cut <br />The thicket down; <br />He eyed me with a mocking leer, <br />His lips betrayed a sense of fear; <br />He whispered low, a throaty sound <br />He hung his head while looking round. <br />'I've tried to cut the brambles down, <br />I've hewed the branches near the ground <br />I broke three blades of my saw, <br />I clipped the needles that stabbed and tore <br />My shirt and flesh, my dungerees, <br />As I bent low, squatting on my knees. <br />But as I labored to cut and trim <br />It sprouted spikes, I couldn't win; <br />And then I espied what was writ <br />As I bent low and strained to twist, <br />The epitaph carved in stone; <br />I read it with a silent moan; <br />Here lies the body of a witch <br />Hung and burnt, <br />In bubbling pitch, <br />She cursed us as the flames grew higher <br />Writhing in the burning fire; <br />Her charred bones are buried here, <br />In a leaded coffin bier, <br />These briars encase her <br />Burnt remains, <br />Yet she seeks a mortal frame; <br />Do not cut these prickly vines <br />Which snake about her tomb and climb; <br />Do not trim or deracinate <br />These tangled briars that seal her fate; <br />This bitter wood entombs her will <br />Which still seeks vengeance <br />And always will.<br /><br />David McLansky<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/curse-of-the-burning-witch/
