The Red Witch

She sits by the tree,

With blood in her hair,

A ripped-out heart woven in there,

Blood red queen,

Of ravaged souls,

She sits under the Children’s Tree,

Even when it snows,

The Children’s Tree has grown old,

Countless bodies,

Dancing in the cold,

Once when it was green and young,

The tree had leaves and branches,

Upon which nothing hung,

But when she arrived in the village square,

The women shrunk back,

For the look in her eyes,

Was as if a devil resided there,

The babies wailed,

The men turned pale,

Beneath the glance of that heartless stare,

But the children,

Ah they the innocent,

Welcomed her without fail,

However in their childish play,

They came to know,

That not all was happy and gay,

This woman was different,

From those they had seen,

Despite their screams, whimpers and cries,

Not a plea did she heed,

She tied them fast,

And hung them to die,

Till the vultures came for a feast with the flies,

Ripped out their hearts and braided her hair,

Then left them all swinging up in the air,

No one dared or could interfere,

The children went missing,

But by then she had instilled fear,

“The red witch” they whispered and held their children close,

By morning those were gone as well,

Accompanied by the cawing of crows.

~Rei Shiori