The Witch of Endor
“I think I will disappear,” she said,
and vanished from her seat.
She was not visible anywhere,
her absence was complete.
Those she had astonished in the inn,
heard a crow caw on the roof.
They called her the witch of Endor,
and now they had the proof.
Her robe one moment fiery scarlet,
the next dark smoky black,
spells she chanted in her mountain cave,
so none could find her track.
She was banished from her ancient tribe,
for practising her arts,
but only the witch of Endor
could heal their broken hearts.
King Saul, disguised, begged her to summon
dead Samuel from sleep.
Abandoned by God, he came to her,
up stony pathways steep.
Afraid, she obeyed, the spirit spoke
of Saul’s death and defeat.
He died, self slain, on the battlefield,
his foes he could not beat.
She found comfort in the thunder cloud,
saw pale visions in the rain.
Soldiers she feared, the sword, the spear,
felt keen a sparrow’s pain.
Cold was winter, the white cloaked hunter.
She chanted in the dark,
proud to be the witch of Endor,
for she had made her mark.