They are Coming

they are coming,
oh dear goddess, they are coming.
now i see their lanterns glowing
through the trees.
and i hear the sickles crashing
and the anger that is lashing
at these simple souls
i’ve ever tried to please.
they are led now by that angry, self-important preacher, the holy man with hatred in his heart.
and his ever-open book,
and his angry, biting face,
with his certainty he has the only way.
i have helped the maidens caught before their time given salves and potions, healing for their woes.
i have taken from their wombs, the mewling babies, and bound the jaws of those who passed away.
i have cured their beasts of scour,
shown them how to mend their clothes,
lived here quietly, for many, many years.
now i stand here, in my home,
and i hear them,
as they come to take me
roughly, to my death.
goddess, in your mercy,
take me to you.
they will swim me in the morning,
that i know.
and if, by some ill chance, i should survive that, then the fire waits, and they will watch me burn.
i have known them all their lives,
each and every one,
seen their troubles,
eased their suffering when i can.
but they say i am a daughter of some devil, never, ever loved by mortal man.
if this must be, Lady, all i ask is this.
let me die with dignity,
a real witch.