Scarlet Witch

There is a scarlet witch
who lives within the woodlands of my heart.
She dances there, between the towering trees
and sings the song of the timberlands
which echoes through my mind.
She was shaped from the earth
beneath the trees
(the flesh of my own soul)
and made with many woodland things
like branches and leaves and river stones
and wild roses, thorns and all.
Her skin is pale as moon beams
trickling through the leaves
and her eyes are as bright as stardust in the night.
She moves with cautious grace
like the wild queen she is,
crowned with locks of tangled crimson hair.
She was baptized in fire
and raised by the wolves.
She lives from the earth and the mountain streams.
She is one with all the creatures there,
in the landscape of my dreams.
How I wish this scarlet witch were real
so that I might be her loving mate.
I know that this can never be.
But sometimes I hear her song
in the rustle of the autumn leaves
and sometimes I catch a flickering glimpse
of scarlet hair amidst the soaring pines,
and I have hope.