forty nine

Witch-Burning

They burned a witch in Bingham Square

Last Friday afternoon.

The smoke was blacker than

The shadows on the moon;

The licking flames were strangely green

Like fox-fire on the fen...

And she who cursed the godly folk

Will never curse again.

They burned a witch in Bingham Square

Before the village gate.

A housewife raised a skinny hand

To damn her, tense with hate.

A huckster threw a jagged stone---

her pallid cheek ran red...

But there was something scornful in

The way she held her head.

They burned a witch in Bingham Square;

Her eyes were terror-wild

She was a slight, comely maid,

No taller than a child.

They bound her fast against the stake

And laughed to see her fear...

Her red lips muttered secret words

That no one dared to hear.

They burned a witch in Bingham Square---

But ere she swooned with pain

And ere her bones were sodden ash

Beneath the sudden rain,

She set her upon that throng...

For time cannot erase

The echo of her anguished cries,

The memory of her face.

by Mary Elizabeth Counselman

*ere is another way of saying before*