The old woman's life had been made undying.
Her husband looked down,
Awaiting her with a frown.
And all the while the woman mirrored this frown,
And stared upon her velvet gown,
Looking for the words to fit her despair,
And causing stress upon her old hair.
The witch had found this to be her accomplishment,
Despite God's look of judgement,
Sealing the witch's fate,
Hanging her body like bait.
But still the woman sat,
With a velvet gown and a hat,
Hunched over on her rocking chair,
Playing with her gray hair,
Knitting more than just a shirt,
And feeling very hurt.
Her husband's voice still sounding fresh inside her head,
She killed herself and was laid upon her bed.
And God looked down with another sea of disapproval,
For a sin is a sin,
For a law is a law,
Her ghost drifted along,
Knowing this was wrong.
Her husband still looked down,
With a smile, not a frown:
For her wife had died for the chance to see him,
Even though she never got another chance to see him.