When witches were made
in the moist womb of a still
sleeping planet-
The Blues were given to the seas
and to the lone kite
against the azure of a broken sky
While these minxes-swift, fluid,
so quick to anger
They took the Green.
For years they flew,
only taking the female form.
Sensual belles of an era forgotten,
mermaids of the mossy underground-
rejoicing in their bodies.
Till the sleeping planet
Woke to chaos,
and the jade that was their blood-
Thickened, and slowly
slowly
The Witches-
the ones of the olive complexion
of charmed ways and Southern grace
Coarsened and withered away
to what we now know
as Trees.
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