They called her a witch and said she deserved to die
She deserved to be tortured, to be killed.
Her diabolical cat made their skin crawl
And they were convinced it made their children fall ill.
They knew she had whipped up disguised potions
That would heal you momentarily then poison you slowly.
A wrong look could kill you if you weren’t careful
Fangs, if bared, could be used to make you bleed profusely.
But the witch remembered, she wasn’t always cruel
She had been sent to the village as a guardian,
But the villagers weren’t trusting; they treated her with disgust
Her heart turned cold, her bitterness fuelled, her fury she upheld.
The god men said her soul was safeguarded by the cat
They tore its limbs and burned it till the ashes were blown by the wind.
The witch wept, but to the villager’s shock,
Her soul remained unharmed, though she appeared unhinged.
We must burn her, cried they.
They put a spear through her head and threw her into the flames.
They watched with glee as blood covered her face and got licked by the fire
But that is when the raven came.
The raven flew over them and pecked at the eyes
Of the god men and the villagers alike.
While they screamed as their world turned suddenly blind,
The raven flew across into the fire.
The raven clawed over the witch’s skin
And brought out a blood-soaked heart; it was hard and looked like ebony,
But the raven stopped not at pecking it clean
Finally it found within the layers, the heart of gold; away it flew then in the direction heavenly.