Witches' Whisper

Whispers of the wind brush past me,

Kicking up the fiery leaves,

As the trees begin to make a sea-

of dead leaves, creating a painting that weaves-

Its own story as dark clouds begin to roll in. 

There’s a chill to the evening air,

as a holiday approaches, it spins-

the once peaceful breeze into a warning,

of things that should not exist. 

As witches cast a spell on the land. 

Their chant echoes through the forest,

a sound so enchanting-

the most steel-hearted person-

wouldn’t resist their sweet melody. 

Dancing with the gentle full moon, 

their laughter fills the woods.

As warm as the sun, their fire-

glows bright, promising a winter full of warmth.