The Witch and the Crow

The young witch wandered through the wood aimless and bored,

Looked for someone to have fun with; to feel wanted, loved, adored. 

Stopped in a grassy clearing of dappled shade and sun,

Feeling eyes upon her made her want to turn and run.

Instead, she looked around searching through the trees,

To find the eyes that watched and filled her with unease. 

At last she saw him sitting on a mossy oak tree branch,

A newly fledged young crow, returning her curious glance.   

As she approached, she thought that he’d take flight,

But instead he let her stroke those feathers black as night.   

He hopped onto her shoulder and croaked gently in her ear,

She turned her face towards him, felt his warmth, he was so near.  

Nuzzling in his feathers, his warm beak on her cheek,

She chatted to him gently, he loved to hear her speak.   

The witch continued to wander with her new friend close by,

He was happy to just to be there and gaze into her eyes.   

Over many months their friendship became dangerously strong, 

Whenever she was in the woods he’d soon be along,  

To sit on her shoulder, a loyal companion,

And listen to her whispering in her magical song.   

One day the witch had to leave the wood to travel far and wide,

Said goodbye to her favourite friend who was always by her side.   

He pined for his witch every day, his heart heavy with grief,

He looked around for anything to give him some relief. 

Psilocybe mushroom helped him to forget,

Monkshood helped to numb the pain and regret. 

Deadly nightshade sped his heart apace,

Then foxglove slowed it from that race.   

But nothing helped or gave relief,

Just made it worse, an endless grief.   

Years passed, the witch returned to the wood,

She walked and walked, then slowed, then stood.   

Stopped in a grassy clearing of dappled shade and sun,

She felt those eyes upon her, she’d never turn and run.   

Instead, she looked around searching through the trees,

To find those eyes that watched and filled her with peace.   

At last she saw him sitting on the same oak tree branch,

The large, black crow cawed and returned her searching glance.   

Astonished to see him there still, she called him to her breast,

As he took flight towards her, her heart hammered in her chest.   

He landed on her shoulder and croaked gently in her ear,

She turned her face towards him, felt his warmth, he was so near.  

Nuzzling in his feathers, his warm beak on her cheek,

She talked to him gently, he loved to hear her speak.    

She told him she was sorry for being away so long,

Now back, she’d never leave, she whispered in magical song.   

The crow was happy, but scared she’d not remain,

And wondered how to stop her leaving him again.   

While the witch was brewing some herbs in her little crock,

The crow flew down and secretly dropped in some poppy and hemlock.   

Paralysis spread slowly through her body as she fell asleep,

The crow watched from his perch and quietly began to weep.   

He realised then he’d killed his dearest friend, 

When all he wanted was to stop her leaving him again.