Witchcraft

She was the woman who made the stones to sing,
And could heal a wild bird's broken wing.

She knew all the steps of the seasons' dance,
And had often seen the wild white sea-horses prance.

She worked all through the night until the sunrise,
Wild white-haired woman with the sea in her eyes.

O witch, at whom countless epithets were hurled-
O wisewoman, O healer, long gone from this world-

Somewhere do you still tell secrets come from afar,
And foretell the rising of the moon and each star?

Say that you do, for then I think I could bear
That the song of the witch no more haunts our air.

Somewhere the witch lives as she has done for so long,
And the air, earth, and sea are alive with her song.