fairytale, moon, nature, poems, poetry, trees, witch, writing

Heathen Girl


Nature calls her
Into the wild,
Under a pearl moon
Wolves slink by her side.
There’re grand old trees
Who groan with age,
While banshees scream
And cry with rage.
Owlets screech as
Creatures skitter.
The wise old witch
She too dwells here.

Yet deep in the wood
This heathen girl hides
From a wretched father
Who she rightly defies.
She is not to be
Bought or sold for gold.
She hides herself;
She breaks the mould.

©2017 H. M. Smith, All Rights Reserved.


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