The Witch of SteenA Poem by David Lewis PagetJust twelve, I swear, I must have been The day they took the Witch of Steen And put a halter round her neck To teach her magic some respect. The women in the village square Tore off her clothes, and pulled her hair Then called their menfolk out to view Who crossed them there, what they would do. They tied her hands behind her back The rope around her neck was slack, But tied to Jethro’s stubborn mule They led her naked, like some fool. And all her secrets lay out there Uncovered, in the open air, She looked quite beautiful to me Her naked form, such artistry. The mule dragged her, painful and slow Along the lanes where they would go As gusts of breeze blew out her hair, Revealed what she was hiding there. And I, I followed, just a lad Whose eyes were full of her, by god, Whose breasts were pert and firm back then Whose thighs held secrets, hid from men. I saw that tiny tuft of hair That hid her womanhood in there, That plagued me since, for every night I’d think of it in dread delight. But still they led her, lane and field No place that she was not revealed, They took her to the ducking pond Where life or death would lie beyond. And when they laid the ducking stool With her aboard, across the pool, Her voice rang out, this buxom maid With words the villagers dismayed. ‘For all that you come judging me, Look to yourselves, your pedigree, What sons and daughters sprang at night From phantom fathers, bred in spite.’ ‘When husbands were out tending fields And wives would wait, temptation yields. What shadows stood by window ledge Gained entry to some marriage bed?’ The women quaked before her spell And screamed, then ducked the witch to hell And would have left her there to drown Had not the menfolk brought her round. In mercy then, they set her free And she had screamed, ‘A curse on thee! ‘Your cattle will roam free and late Your catch won’t hold the cattle gate.’ ‘Your crops will flatten in the fields When hail and sleet destroy their yields, And mud will fill your village hall, Your church collapse, your roofs will fall.’ She left there with a final shout The things she cursed, they came about, But I was left a lifetime dream, That naked witch, the Witch of Steen. David Lewis Paget
© 2016 David Lewis PagetFeatured Review
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