The witch! The witch, I am! Point your cold fingers at me
Get on with lives thereafter, drink your tea
Put me to the stake like the common witch
And worry about the missing orphan children, whom your heart hath have an itch
For, though I know no one loved them except me, as you kicked those little ones out the door
I saw you do it, and as they walked into my house, never before
had I seen such pleading eyes since my midwife days, their looks apparent
Hated by shopkeepers, other children, their caregivers, all because they lack their parent?
"They knock over beerglasses, the crooks!"
Bartenders yell at the innocents as he looks
On at the parented children, beating orphans with sticks
Does he do anything? No, he does not! Nor, does he believe his eyes be doing tricks
Silently, inside he cheers.
Yes, you villagers hate them! Do not deny!
And as you pray on Sundays with rosaries in hand, and sigh
No thoughts of me, the dirty dungeon rat
You pray for God for forgiveness as my hopes become flat
You only took them in for more money
One hundred gold coins to keep them, do you forget what you paid for as you run out to buy marketplace honey?
You shoved them out the door into days in which they were killed by the man known as
The devil! A man with a bone hand has sent them to God's peace, yet you accuse me for the deaths, whereas
I was more of a mother to them, you see
And yet, you kill me?
AN: For the book "The Hangman's Daughter". Just something that I wrote for English class. The teacher asked for six sentences, minimum, but of course I cannot be bound by such chains!