My Poetry. The way of the Witch.

Darkness falls upon the village 
were birds don't sing any more 
except the odd owl hooting  
And the shriek of the wild boar. 
The last person lived till ninety-four 
the rest died before they were twenty 
caused by a witch burned to the stake 
In revenge, she killed a plenty. 
Who was this woman? Why was she killed?
Only a few had known
they say she practised witchcraft by night
and her reputation had grown.
She lived alone with her cat
he was as black as night itself
into the dark witching hours
You could hear the devil himself.
Smoke burns from the chimney stack
beautiful, colourful lights
to the naked eye one could see
figures floating most nights.
Tall figures, short figures animal like
were born from the color of gold
hardly a soul lived to tell
how the story itself would unfold.
What were those figures why were they here?
only the witch was carefully informed
all that was known that each new night
figures were hideous and malformed.
Disappearing speedily into the night
no one knew were they would go
or the purpose of their timely birth
no light could anyone throw.
All of a sudden an angry crowd gathered
to catch the witch in the act
wilfully accused of black magic they say
it was a matter of fact.
At 10.35 on a chilly day
the witch paid the price with her life
the black cat let out an eerie squeak
the atmosphere could be cut with a knife.
To this day the smoke appears
even though the house is decayed
if you look very closely into the smoke
the figures still appear BE AFRAID!