• I search for the cure to my illness,
    the never-ending sadness.
    Day and night,
    I stir the mixture in my cauldron, the smoke quite a sight.
    Yet, years and years and years have passed.... See More
    The mixture I was trying was the last.
    Hoping, praying,
    I stir.
    Take it away, my sadness,
    It hasn't gone away, the wound I tried so hard to nurse.
    Then, I hear a bang on my door,
    Witch, witch, they call.
    I was shocked.
    It matters not, the door was locked.
    Yet they banged,
    They pushed it down.
    They could see my cauldron, green smoke all around.
    Two grabbed me by the arms,
    My sadness, temporarily, shock it becomes.
    I wanted to rest,
    And also to protest.
    But they would not listen as they bound me to the stake.
    Listen, for goodness' sake,
    I thought.
    The people below pointing, the whole lot.
    A torch was brought in,
    Now what would that mean?
    Under the crime of witchcraft, I was about to be burned.
    No one, absolutely no one, actually listened.
    A voice inside me spoke up, Is this not what you wished for?
    The cure for your sadness, which you hate to the core.
    Ah, I have been searching, searching for so long.
    Turned out that I was wrong.
    As the wood was set alight,
    I knew this was what I wanted, definitely right.
    The crimson flames engulfed me,
    Death was arriving, her scythe I could see.
    In my last few moments of life,
    I smiled.