Witch of the dead
The Magic of the Dead
At the midnight hour as the dead begin to walk, that is when her sacred magic will talk.
In a soft and quiet tone, her magic works best alone
Those of rotten flesh hear the call, they trudge forward without a fall
The sounds of nature all around, make a haunting backdrop to their dragging sound
The call leads them close and she stands near, awaiting their close encounter where most would fear
Encircled around she watches the dead, then raises her arms over her head.
She calls to the heavens and beckons below, her voice at first raging then soft and mellow
Unable to turn the dead continue their walk, ever close to the lady they commence in their stalk
Halting before her they watch their prey, she pulls out their magic and they all fall away
To ashes and dust to the grave they return, their magic is hers now and so shall it burn
She smiles and regards her beloved treasure, she keeps it close where it will bring her pleasure
Departing the forest she returns to her dwelling, she will blend in now with the others with her secrets that she’s not ever telling.
