They seek beyond their short sighted seer,
Upon a forest across the moor,
Where none dare show a shining cross,
Or glittering emblem of what they find pure.
They’ve left the path of enlightened souls,
To wander biways unclean,
For flesh is pierced,
And blood flows out unstopped by prayers uttered in fear.
Now the walk upon paths of the damned,
Trying to not be pulled from such a winding path,
Their souls run ragged as feet upon ground,
Without kindness of leather souls.
And who walks with them,
But death himself beneath his cloak and cowl so tattered,
A young form born between this lot,
Lies broken upon planks of yew.
Each one knows the danger that comes,
As they hunt for a witch of the Heart-Tree,
She’s rumored to live at its base branches,
Sucking upon a toad so fat.
But those who seek her know the game,
Now played with their lives so grim,
It will be a gift from each so taken,
To renew this broken flesh of one so young.
But one must find her through bogs unending,
And then meet her riddles quite dark,
You might as well give death his wanting,
And steer clear of cackling quite mad.
But too late they’ve found her,
Dancing round fire with glee,
Beneath the Heart-Trees waiting bows,
Her eyes are glowing and thumbs a prickling.
The hag’s been waiting for ages,
To stare upon a destiny long foretold,
In greed she’s waited to catch a royal chalice,
To embark upon her sinister road back home.
Reclaim her title and kingdom wanting,
But never knowing who she really was,
Now weaving spells and binding darkness,
She’s repaying a betrayal so deliciously planned.