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...