Be a martyr or be a soldier
The old Earth won’t tell
And all those winters you have
Raised your shield against the wind
Her cracking hands
Her creaking limbs will be
Shadows across the grave
Wet reaching roots
In the hollows of the skull
And still the cold
Of the old witch
Will come again
She comes again
Each November
Through the dust and webs
Of the window
Looking out across the field
A distant glimpse of ragged robes
Lurking at the forest edge
A white blindness in her eyes
Now scratching at the door
Sowing seed or taking life
We all bend a simple knee
Blessed hearts of bloodied angels
Losing sight of sacred wind
And falling rain
Her Earthen witchcraft
Summoning Autumn winds
She casts her spell
Her icy breath upon your neck
A shiver rattling through your bones
To cast aside
The precious warmth of summer
Takes your heart in her silvery veil
She pulls you in…
