I would like to tell you about a legendary witch who lived in the mountains.
She wore red,
only red,
a russet faerie creature
deemed unworthy for our dimension.
She dreamed blue dreams,
haunted by her loneliness, her

And fanciful affections, (ah, reveries)
seen to only her
jaundiced eyes and those looking within,
are senseless to us;
we don't care!
How does she subsist,

in her isolation from the world,
of immaculate studies, of
a universe void of those emotions
which torment her.

Ah, but I know what she truly desires,
her blazing heart (red as her frocks)
reaching, grasping for that
which is long lost and

as is she, just
another tale, a legend,
immortal yet incorporeal,
her fanciful powers lost
to a swirl
of myth and solitude.

And I weep for her
as I don my own frock,
and peregrinate up
to the legendary mountains.