In the black furror of a field I saw an old witch-hare this night; And she cocked a lissome ear, And she eyed the moon so bright, And she nibbled of the green; And I whispered "Whsst! witch-hare," Away like a ghostie o’er the field She fled, and left the moonlight there.
In the water-no one expected me to live, but I did. The water thrashes me about as I gasp for air. My struggle was pointless I thought and I should just give up, I reminded myself of what they did to me and fought back at the water with all my might and anger. My numbed fingers scratch a the rocks as I hold on for dear life. ~Cecelia Hart