Forgiveness tastes like sweet corn
And the worst part was, when the crowd came with
Pitchforks in hand and they did not know her name.
They bound her, led her to the wooden pyre
No humanity in their eyes, just fire.
All that was left on that barren field was
A smudge of blackened ash and then nothing
But rich earth where squash, beans and corn stalks grew
Up tall under a sky of heartbreak blue.
So it was in this was the witch was mourned.
By living fields that never knew her name
But breathed in the air and breathed out the sky
The summer winds waved through the corns "goodbye".
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