I am a witch.
It is what I do, you see,
Make people happy,
Or at least give them the idea
That they may stop at a tea room
Or quit the job or return her kiss
In the fading light of a winter evening
When the starlings are calling
The darkness into their breasts.
You ask, why are you so nice to me?
I am a witch,
Don’t you see? It is my choice
To plant the seeds in dry soil,
To find the person who will
Bring water to them and write
The wind into the novel
The season will lengthen to become.
If you have ever feared a witch,
All you feared was the possibility
Of your own joy.