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Rated: E · Poetry · Death · #1123975
A women going to the Gallows. Salem witch trials.
The Witch's Ballade

I am not a witch, I am not.
No tear will escape, I will not cry.
My power is none and still we fought.
All they did to me was decry.
They say I kill cattle, but Oh my,
my bewitching power is none.
Who would've seen, there was no spy?
They drag me on and on, but still they shun.

Death used to never be a thought,
but from church I did shy,
and with the preacher I fought.
Into my business they pry,
they search my house as the times comes nigh,
to pull me to the gallows as they have their fun.
All I can think of is to defy,
but they drag me on and on, but still they shun.

As they tied my hands, i almost fought.
When they tightened the noose, I felt I would die.
But as all this happened, I did have a thought.
How funny it was that they pry,
because I had nothing, but still they chose I.
And so I laughed hard, and didn't run,
and in my crazed state, I refused to cry.
They drag me on and on, but still they shun.

And in my madness I did spy,
a man pull the lever and end the fun.
But now that I'm gone, they can't decry.
Thay drag me on and on, but still they shun.
© Copyright 2006 Jamie Lynn (jamieawesome at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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