The witch braided her braids, danced in the fire,
She collected herbs with a song under the mysterious moon.
And behind her, and behind her floated thoughtful fog
And lurked in it viscous, woven with dreams, dope.
The witch dances relentlessly and the star swarm flickers,
The wind winds incessantly over the disheveled head.
Owls hoot on the branches, wolves rush about in the bushes.
The song of the night blooms on the witch’s lips.