There was a time they loved her once, for then
Did Janus smile. But coins and wheels must turn
About; through strife and toil our bread we earn.
When vengeful hell ascends we seek heaven,
And she will be the sacrifice of men.
In fear they choose, the witch must fall and burn,
Though only for their good she’d ever yearn.
Hunger makes the angel seem a demon.
Her head she bowed, reconciled to her death;
And still no blighting curse upon her lips-
Though the stern priest loomed in the church’s door,
Condemning as she choked her last fiery breath-
“I love you yet,” while down one lone tear slips.
It is too late, yet they will burn witches no more.