Bewitching

Death came for Mother dear,
when I was trapped one day.
Death, the trickster devil,
had lured me away.

At long last I was freed
when another took my place,
alas, too late for Mother,
and Death left little trace.

I raced off after Mother,
hoping to set her free,
a bent grass here, a broken twig,
I followed through the trees.

The path, it narrowed winsomely,
a tunnel carved from leaves,
beguiling to my grieving heart,
my senses were deceived.

Yet on, still on, I followed,
through forest glade and glen,
until at last I caught them,
Mother’s body and the Raven.

I brought forth Old Man’s golden dome,
crafted of sun and rain,
Death, he could not abide it,
this shield from mortal pain.

Mother’s eyes, they opened,
her body drew its breath,
the witchy glen grew golden,
a space now free from Death.

Many years have passed now,
Mother and I are free,
we live on in our forest glen,
forever young, and happy.