Witchy Woman

It’s some kind of evil…

the way that she flies.

Her violet irises,

bewitched with the sky.

Watch her soar higher,

as darkness descends.

Towards the red moon

and the stars without end.

Black lace dress flutters,

in the cool autumn breeze.

She dips and swerves

through the yellowing trees.

Magic is stirring…

Ghosts abandon their tombs,

and the banshees are 

warning of inescapable doom.

The night creatures and

demons beg her to play…

But this witch is busy

with a love spell for bae.

© J.G.


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