Pursued – Kill the Witch

The chant boils with rage, raising her skin
as her body tickles with terrified tension;
Her poor head pounding, neck aching
as she destroys her flesh in headlong dash
through trees; ignoring the grabbing thorns
as her blood bestows its blessing upon
the branches, bushes, brambles and shrubs.
She's only seen ten summers and that'll be it
at this rate unless she flees faster than she is
'cause they're almost upon her and they're all
baying for blood in inhuman rage. 'Twas her
first time as midwife's aid. But she did as told -
still, the woman died and the baby's so frail
they don't think it'll survive. And it's all her fault.
'Cause witches are always guilty ones it seems -
even when they're innocent.