CIV: A poem for a troupe of vent'ring bards

There was a witch who stitched a forest whole,

who’d tricked the Light of Night, her haven hewn,

who’d thrown His throne and all His glory stole,

and snatched His calming presence from the Moon.

She spun a thread that lead the lost inside,

and gave a toast to all the ghosts of Night:

the promise of their walking house to hide

was theirs, if they maintained her…