“What? Can the devil speak true?”
We burnt the witch — but, oh, on fire she laughed!
She cursed the prelate and the magistrate.
She cursed the bowman’s steady arm, the shaft,
and the dark mark with which force meant to mate.
She cursed both offered love and steady hate.
She cursed the words we read her from the Book.
She failed, we all thought, to appreciate
the wise concern with which we watched her cook.
She cursed us with her voice and with her look.
She sucked in smoke and never stopped to choke.
In her ordeal, she sure had what it took.
Before her bones collapsed, she cracked a joke.
Now that she’s ashes, we stand and reflect
that every curse is bound to take effect.