The Last Burned Witch

A woman seized and trussed
Sacrifice bound, gossiped and fussed
Over by villagers too crooked to debate
Against death by fire, crooked fate,
Leaving only bones bent by anguish.

Crooked lord of lands and lives
Gave the orders, for want of shrive
From Church who crooked and croziered life,
Or want of peace from shrewish wife,
Climber on the crooked social vine.

Or maybe a witch finder came, seeking fame
By calling out the weak and lame,
Those too meek to protest
When crooked pin put goodwife to crooked test
Proclaimed as witch, anathema.

Which judge it was presided, stern and cruel,
Or jury silent o'er justice playing the macabre fool
Is a mystery, for no letter or record attests
To cause, evidence or process. At its best
An affair of simple people in crooked times.

Thus whether crooked hag or maiden fair
We know not. Only that a cairn was raised, there
On lord's land, crooked stones piled high
Set with cross, moorland breezes sigh
And whisper "Here she was burned".