Por Letizia Rivera-Guzmán
Long, roaming road made last witch journey-bound,
she was a sanguine shadow from moon’s stare,
praising, joyous town’s witch-hunter she found,
a body buried bleak lacking his glare.
The night hosted screeches of game and fire,
they danced for life’s short stay with ashes smelt,
offered sketches with flowers for His Sire,
wrecked she glim tribute for loathing felt.
She sung to his tomb victory’s ballad,
and brought him out hope and a drop of scorn,
sprout with no soul nor His holy valid,
her lost creature for her passion-hate born.
Vengeance through seance-haze all it need seek,
from pig-villagers who dared rip witch’s teeth.
