the witch is dependent upon her solitude: locked
away in her coffin, spinning webs to ensnare anyone
foolish enough to enter her forest.
(he’ll say it’s his forest, of course he will, more fool him
for not knowing that hers is the real power / he is just
an empty shell waiting to crack)
…read the rest at The Rain, Party, & Disaster Society!
(what a wonderful birthday gift, to have another of my witch-poems published!)