my crimson witch,
a master of the switch..
from yes to no to maybe.
can I blame her? nayy..
she’s just a little baby.

besides, we know..
upon the hat
of every wicked witch..
the tapestry of her
downgoing..
is always dutifully
stitched..

by hands of those
who held her wrong.
by hands of those
who sang
her treasured
love songs.