Let’s call a spade a spade
The first time they called her,
witch of the woods
she fell back as if she’d been struck;
what had she ever done to deserve such a word,
to be with such a moniker stuck?
was it not they who asked,
who begged and beseeched her,
to grant them their deepest desires;
when they crept along to her home in the woods
through wild roses, shrubs and sweetbriars?
was it not obvious to them,
that she wasn’t a fan
of man, woman or child?
hence she lived by herself, isolated, alone
in the peaceful, nonjudgmental wild.
she granted their wishes,
just to see them depart
as speedily as they had come;
what was it to her if the wishes they wished for
were incredibly hateful or dumb?
what cared she for the baker
who loved Annie Mae
but was adored by the foul Fanny Sue;
was it her fault she was skilled with potions and spells,
so what the sod married a shrew?
or that Annie Mae Jenkins
met too soon her maker
at night ’neath the full harvest moon?
nay! the villain’s Fanny Sue and those of her ilk
who appeal to the witch for a boon.
it’s not she who has sought
to control or corrupt
the sands of destiny, fate;
she just lends a hand to woman or man
then sends them swiftly home to wait,
for the powers to work
subsume or subvert
that which is or perhaps what should be,
while she sits happy at home, at peace and alone,
untouched by their vain idiocy.
she has the power
the evil is theirs
let’s call a spade a spade,
they dub her witch, she says it’s projection
or, in the vernacular, shade.