Weird Sisters

These are not women
with the healer's art,
these are not women
in face or heart,
but sisters of the night,
the deepest dark,
who speak in lightning
and light the spark
of mischief, murder;
they raise the flood
of deeds abhorrent,
steeped in wine, in blood.
We trembled, playing 
at the game 
of Hecate calling 
Macbeth by name. 
While all around 
your house, a curse 
more vivid than 
Shakespearean verse 
lay steeped in words 
you dared not say, 
until at last 
you got away.
And there was 1, 
so deaf to rhyme, 
I could not safe you 
at the time 
but played at witchcraft: 
"Foul is fair. . 
without a clue 
to what lay there 
in your white house 
between the acts. 
For fair is foul 
when foul are facts.



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