In peace the woodland witch sat still,
Hidden from sight and mind.
Atop a tree, behind the hill,
Where no dark eyes can find.

The only sound to break the air
Amidst the thriving life,
Was buzzing wings around her hair,
And churning rivers’ strife.

Now she, at last, could cast her spell
Conjure tranquility – 
The noise inside her head she’d quell,
And veil fragility.

You see the witch did not fear man,
Or his cutting words,
It was herself from which she ran
And chose the home of birds.

As in these trees with life abound,
In faunas grace and charm,
The witch with joy at last had found
A place that’s free from harm.