Poem 7: MYSTICAL CREATURE

This one is about you, mystical creature,
Created by the core of nature’s own hands, blood that’s silver.
Beauty is her weapon, power, deadly at its best
Destructive in the best way possible, never turns down a spell request.

The creature surrounds herself with crystals,
For she is the daughter, the witch of the enchanted forests,
Many men have tried to take her down, pointing their pistols,
Miserably failed and she held her head high, continuing her performance.

Her hair was birthed on this very day from the ashes,
Eyes from the tides of the oceans, her voice ever so in tune,
Skin like the winter, cold yet sweet,
A mystical creature, born on the edge of the crescent moon.

Happy birthday to you Alice,
For you are my special golden chalice.

Melissa Johnson.