Let’s call a spade a spade

The first time they called her,

witch of the woods

she fell back as if she’d been struck;

what had she ever done to deserve such a word,

to be with such a moniker stuck?

was it not they who asked,

who begged and beseeched her,

to grant them their deepest desires;

when they crept along to her home in the woods

through wild roses, shrubs and sweetbriars?

was it not obvious to them,

that she wasn’t a fan

of man, woman or child?

hence she lived by herself, isolated, alone

in the peaceful, nonjudgmental wild.

she granted their wishes,

just to see them depart

as speedily as they had come;

what was it to her if the wishes they wished for

were incredibly hateful or dumb?

what cared she for the baker

who loved Annie Mae

but was adored by the foul Fanny Sue;

was it her fault she was skilled with potions and spells,

so what the sod married a shrew?

or that Annie Mae Jenkins

met too soon her maker

at night ’neath the full harvest moon?

nay! the villain’s Fanny Sue and those of her ilk

who appeal to the witch for a boon.

it’s not she who has sought

to control or corrupt

the sands of destiny, fate;

she just lends a hand to woman or man

then sends them swiftly home to wait,

for the powers to work

subsume or subvert

that which is or perhaps what should be,

while she sits happy at home, at peace and alone,

untouched by their vain idiocy.

she has the power

the evil is theirs

let’s call a spade a spade,

they dub her witch, she says it’s projection

or, in the vernacular, shade.