Come over here, son.
There are things that have to be done,
For my time is near,
And I have to make clear,
Instructions that must be followed to the letter.
My voice is weak and strained.
May God give me the strength to articulate
The dire straits of family and farm.
So, please heed my warnings, dear son.
Kneel and listen to what I have to say.
Over by the hearth,
Under a flagstone that is dark,
Lies a talisman that is filled
With bent nails, a lock ofhair and urine secured;
‘Tis a witch bottle to ward off evil spells.
You laugh, but evil does exist and so does the witch,
And you'll have to deal with her after I'm dead.
Decades ago, she showed up on this farm
Told me to vacate, or she would do me harm.
This land belonged to her and no other.
I defied this old crone
And she promised what was forewarned.
I nearly caught my death,
And the farm fell into neglect,
Until I procured that bottle for protection.
It was a matter of days
When the old crone came
Knocking on my door, pleading and wailing for mercy,
For the spell boomeranged with spectacular cruelty.
Pitiful was this witch, who begged for forgiveness.
I gave her none and told her to be gone,
That a talisman protects this farm
From now until the day I depart.
This land belongs to me and mine for generations to come.
So, may your ill-cast spell remind you of who's the boss.
Listen … as then, as I do now,
I can feel her prowl the vicinity of this farm.
She knows my death is at hand,
So you must refill the talisman
With your urine and hair to keep our legacy intact.
Do as I say and don't delay.
For the old crone is outside waiting.
I can feel her approach; she'll soon be at the door
My chest is heavy from panic - nay, horror!
She's listening for my last gasp and then she'll….
Topic(s) of this poem: evil, folklore, witches
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.