The Linnet's Wings House Art

The Witch's Grace by Nonnie Augustine

In her cave I lay
on panther pelts,
my cold blood warmed
by her fire, constant,
untended, brilliant.

Wearing a gypsy shawl
patterned over-all with green,
crimson and saffron moons,
dancing silver symbols
carousing on the depth of black
that was her gown,
murmuring whispery words
of healing, she fed me "Witch's Stew."

The storm hammered against
the boulders flung one by one
easily and angrily by the Tyrant
of blight mountain.
An arrogant fool,
with lust for power, Magick,
i'd all alone approached
the gate of his dark domain.
Near deadly misconstruction of my wit
led me to this ignorant attack.

Found that night by the Highland Witch,
ancient enemy of the granite-skinned
Ogre, I was nursed by the glint
of her golden eyes.
Full-shamed and half-dead,
what remained of my meager life
i humbly pledged in service
to my witch, my savior, my love.

2005 Augustine

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