The walls brown and red.
The witch will not eat
Us for all you’ve said.
Beams, sharp in the damp
Gloom of the dense woods,
Spot masks and bare eyes
Sunk in a green hood.
You don’t know the witch,
Just a word to you
Who think, just a word,
No clue what words do.
Our house of baked bread
Trimmed in fruits and frost,
Is not from a tale.
Each thought has its cost.
That cost is the witch
Who moves in each one,
Who breathes out through souls
As Earth breathes in sun.
