Magic

 Once upon a time,

 There was a witch.

 Born on November nine

 in a mansion in Greenwich.

 She wanted to be brutally loved

 By the bastard of the mad king.

 Wore a peach trumpet gown

 And a splendid diamond ring.

 Caught his attention in the garden,

 Under the moon, the gazes harden.

 He was resilient and hard to please.

But his erratic face makes her freeze.

A witch is an embodiment of spells.

No voluble Abigail will kiss and tell.

Wiccans taught her the magic to shine.

Where she wished their feelings to entwine.

Among all, the wish for love is fatal.

In time the magic will rise from hell.

The blood of a virgin in an ancient ladle

Is an offering to love deities in a bethel.



In the house of magic, wild love is compelling.

Witches have crafted to claim their foretelling.

Now the bastard’s face was no more bewildered.

Magic of love in the garden of Greenwich glittered.