The Witch Neighbor Poem by R.A. Burleigh

The haunting weeds pursue;
the hollow corners moan;
the sad lady is well away.

A cane cracks the symmetrical path;
the ancient sword swings beside the door;
the lady jerks in darkness

expecting loving words to compel the bloody sign:
that waste sown alone,
in flowers never rendered to the sun.

So dull thought children circle,
on Hallow's Eve, the burial box,
and christen death with rotted fruit.

The seasons pass without relief;
old darkness hesitates in magic storm
to lay aside humanity and weep.


RB