Might She by Chance be a Witch
Come to me gently
come softer than soft
and slower than slow
Come to me hand warmed and
with the scent of fragrant spices
in your hair
Blown to us from distant shores
on the breath of a storm
Come to me hand rubbed
and all aglow
neath robes that barely robe
and hide nothing
Come to me imbibed
with warm mulled wine
fresh from the jug
and every drop consumed
before vinegar sets in
Such was our urgency
Nothing would be wasted here
For waste is such a sin
and should we spill
a single drop
We must rub it slowly in
Both round and round
And up and down
our fingers slide and slip…
Then looking up her master bid
Sip my love sip sip sip
and sip she did
From each of three golden cups
Then having sipped
her ancient shawl discarded
or rather slipped
pon sun bleached decking struts
Come my love and do not fear
tis only sunlight dancing
where shadows seldom kiss
Upon and in those pleats and folds
both you and I hold dear
Twas then and only then
he dared to ask
Might she be a witch by any chance
Ah’ yes, she might they chorused
Come in, come in, come in
by then though the spell was cast
Do I taste of anything
She asked
Perchance of him, or him, or him
My lady tastes of many things
Lush summer grass and gardens trim
Of honey sea and sacred herbs
But not of him, or him, or him
Come lay me down then
by shore and sea
Come take me neath
Some forest canopy
Not I he said
I am far from worthy
And fear I might be ugly
beside thee
Then do I sound of anything
she quizzed
My lady sounds of all these things
of working mills
and whispered spells
of anguished gulls
of sea and surf and sighs
If so much is true
where then would you take me
She inquired
In forests green by streams and leats
Neath bridges arched and oceans deep
All such places and more indeed
I would take thee
If not a witch you prove to be