The Witching Hour

lady of death | day 20 | yew tree

overcast sky,
churchyard soft after rain,
will'o wisps dance by gnarled feet
watching over graves, lives lost
having nothing to gain

zephyr's breath is harsh,
tearing at torso, limbs, hair,
monsters call, corpses wake,
writhing in unresting places,
nymphlike skin slowly tears

midnight moon peers through clouds,
poisoned fruit hangs high,
the hanging man swings above
an eternal weight
she bears with a sigh