a fickle task it is to write
a poem to women and witches
what could I possibly say to the listless
that would be worthy of their delight

I am a wistful wildflower wilting
I won’t deny I long for the sun
shaded from its mercy, shielded from above
a canopy of branches I find jilting

so can’t the witches circle expand
and they cease to trample me beneath
i want to dance with the witches sweet
but I am a wilting wildflower damned

and cursed is a woman who whispers
a woman who will not labour
cursed is a woman with no man a savior
those lies like poison on my lips blister

so scream to mother Hekate
stand humbled at her crossroads
allow her pulse your energy as a diode
she is the crone, the mother, and maid

and plea to the mighty Persephone
her vices and her virtues alike
might make the men quiver at your strife
to demand they leave a bit for you and for me

for us wistful wildflowers wilting
who’s to say we won’t come again
the witches bring the scale tilting
and curse them with our very breath

© WanderlustFox