Her braids are disheveled, frightening, white,
She’s running, running, frisky, daring.
The dark night is silently afraid.
A cloud covers the moon like a shawl.
The singing wind howls in hysterics.
It rushes into the dense forested wilderness.
The grove threatens with spruce lances,
The owls hide with fearful cries.
The witch flaps with bony hands
Stars blink from the cloud above the oak grove.
Snakes are hung as earrings beneath her matted locks,
She whirls like a snowstorm, frightening and frantic.
The witch hops about beneath the sound of the pine forest.
The clouds float by with black shivers.