A 17th Century Curse - Poem by Patti Masterman
In the bottle rests my pee
Collected under a darkling moon
And pared down fingernails, overgrown
Some bits of hair and rusty nails
Brass tacks, and a leather pierced
By a nail, which bent at odd angle
Upside down in hidden grave, it lies
So on the evil doer, it rebounds
Until that she, herself, soon die
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
For those afraid a witch may have cast a spell upon them.
If all goes well, the trick will cast the spell back on the witch,
perhaps killing her — or so goes a 17th century witchcraft belief.
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