The witchwood


Bramble thick and thicket brown
hides witchy creatures and all 'round
the wood is still yet stillness stirs
from witches spells throughout the years.

Rook flies back and black toad utters
"Little mouse your heart now flutters,
through the darkness of the trees,
Foxes' meal, the witch to please."

Raven black you move not still
and in the village folks are ill.
What then in the witches brew?
What then of the witch for you?