A witch my mother seem
Rich as butter cream
In each twist and turn
Such, each morning bloomed
Her wrist adorned
By gingles of the thorn bushes.
Reach ! My bothered dreams
Reach ! My bothered dreams
Above my mother's wish

A witch my mother seem
To beem in the darkest dim
And still sweet and warm,
In love each son is groomed
So we Burn
As sparks in the darkest dark
Ingrained in memories of a door
That was never ours
This door, the world is
And a witch kept knocking

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