Witch, the morning's getting closer,
All around the bats are gone
To spend the day at your window,
And embellish your abode.
They adorn your gate like briars,
And your balcony like storms.
Daybreak sees the witch come out,
Like a shadow on the road.
Witch, undo your braided hair,
The butchering sun is here
With its quiver full of quarrels
Dipped in rays of poisoned hate.
Out of the locks of your hair
We will make a golden pillow
For the kids who live in town
And whose sleep you took away.
Witch, your eyes are burning hot:
We will toss them in the fire.
No more young men turned to ashes
Will get lost and waste away.
Witch, it's raining in your town,
Just your dress remains behind.
The night comes ever so slowly
Dark and blackened by the coals.
Maria Mercè Marçal