But, A Witch She Was/ Poem for 15/10/2019

Motherhood - craved her pounding heart, 
But, a witch she was- with a dried up tart.

Have you heard of a grumpy witch,
Who lives to the north of the lonely road,
The road was thorny and desolate,
None dared take it long and broad.

Motherhood - craved her pounding heart,
But, a witch she was- with a dried up tart.

Just like an edgy village does,
They spun her stories - so untrue,
None did let her come around,
Nightmare she was for these crew.

Motherhood - craved her pounding heart,
But, a witch she was- with a dried up tart.

A damsel in her olden days,
A sight she was- so bountiful,
Buzzing around her were lads,
Had she been more merciful.

Motherhood - craved her pounding heart,
But, a witch she was- with a dried up tart.

But she had a secret love,
Buried deep in her scarlet heart,
Her heart got locked with an unusual,
His looks ugly but a golden heart.

Motherhood - craved her pounding heart,
But, a witch she was- with a dried up tart.

But when she bore his child too soon,
The "village police" charged as trained,
The unborn child was framed extreme,
And its father's life they drained.

Motherhood - craved her pounding heart,
But, a witch she was- with a dried up tart.

And now they turned to the lost lady,
A shaky shadow- it was true.
For, she gave her self to the ugly chap,
Whose heart was pure unlike their brew.

Motherhood - craved her pounding heart,
But, a witch she was- with a dried up tart.

"Live lonely" - that was her fate,
"You are cursed"- they stabbed her more,
"Get going" -they whipped and lashed,
An aching soul , all bleeding pore.

Motherhood - craved her pounding heart,
But, a witch she was- with a dried up tart.

Thus she was the grumpy witch,
And lived to the north of lonely road,
They would see a shattered womb,
If they rode the road at broad.

Motherhood - craved her pounding heart,
But, a witch she was- with a dried up tart.

She would not have turned a witch,
Lest at least her womb was spared,
But they all were prying her,
Coz she chose "his" heart that cared.

Motherhood - craved her pounding heart,
But, a witch she was- with a dried up tart.

Day by day she cooked more tarts,
As the mother in her yearned for snore
Of the baby that she will birth,
Lest "they" did not make her sore.

Motherhood - craved her pounding heart,
But, a witch she was- with a dried up tart.

Poetry Prompt for 15/10/2019 : Mother May I.
But Since I could not connect with this prompt, and since the poetry type was a Ballad, I tried my hands on that.

This is my entry for OctPoWriMo 2019
http://www.octpowrimo.com/2019/10/octpowrimo-day-15.html

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