Hunt for a Witch

 Fearsome fearsome hilltop,

Of which no living is aware,

Here, she lives, 

feeding her albatross,

Of her skills must one beware.

The locals have fathomed her,

Figured her dishevelled hair;

Yet, No man ever lived on earth,

He who has seen her firelike glare.

She sits gazing her nose, they say,

Her breasts ornamented with smoke,

But O men! 

She ain't the witch you purge;

Only a woman, impenitently hers.